


The Defenders

by girlskylark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Agender Pidge | Katie Holt, Allura has invisibility powers, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Barista Allura (Voltron), Barista Lance (Voltron), Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith is hardcore into Lance, Lance has a major crush on Hunk, Lance has super strength, Lil bit of Hance, Love Triangles, M/M, Milwaukee, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Smoking, Superhero Allura, Superhero Pidge, Superpowers, Swearing, Their source of power is kind of like a drug, Villain Keith, Villain Shiro, so that's why I'm tagging it, superhero lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 107,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: Keith just returned from his world-traveling to reconquer the fallen pieces of his father's illegal empire. The industry is known for the production and distribution of the extraordinary substance that awakens superpowers in the 21st century. He and his best friend and relative, Shiro, vow todestroythe Defenders responsible for breaking the Kogane Industry—specifically the one who landed the killing blow on Keith's father.Lance, the Defender responsible, has a dilemma: on top of dealing with the evil dark guys chasing him around every corner, he swore to himself that he'd win the heart of the beloved, the perfect, the wonderful Hunk Garrett who works at the flower shop across from Lance's day job at an Alterra coffee shop in downtown Milwaukee. Not only that, but this mysterious fella has started to frequent Alterra, and the existential crisis his customer, Keith, thrusts on him is far too much to handle.Neither of them aware of each others' everyday appearances, Keith falls head over heals for Lance at Alterra, and Lance considers that perhaps... it wouldn't be so bad to love someone other than Hunk.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who doesn't know how to stop? THIS GIRL.

Keith was never so inclined to spend _this_ much time in one place. His adolescence could otherwise be dubbed “the drift years” considering how frequently he moved around the second he was able to at the age of seventeen. He never figured he’d find Milwaukee again and mark it under something he considered to be a “home”. He never figured he’d find comfort _anywhere_ in that war zone, especially after the ban on powers in general.

But… he was _really_ starting to like it here, against all odds, and it had something to do with the guy at the counter smiling at him now.

“Ugh—what?” Keith said, realizing that the guy’s mouth just moved and no words registered from it.

“What roast do you prefer? Light or dark?” he repeated.

“Oh. Um, either is fine,” he blurted out.

The guy laughed a little as he pumped the coffee into the mug and said, “I get that a lot. You’d be surprised at how many amateur coffee-drinkers come through here and— _wait_. God, sorry, that’s not to say you’re an amateur coffee-drinker, there’s just a wide range of coffee-snobs versus—You know what? Never mind. I’m just gonna shut up now while I’m still living.”

Keith found himself throwing his head back laughing as he dropped his change into the tip jar. “Yeah, well, I think I fall somewhere in the middle there,” he said, and stepped to the side as the cashier passed the cup to him. “What’s your name?”

“Lance.”

Ever since that moment, Keith tasted Lance’s name on his tongue as he tested it, and let the word roll off his tongue for the rest of the day. That night as he stood on the cusp of the Milwaukee River, out on the riverwalk outside of his new apartment, he said Lance’s name aloud and glanced over at where his best friend Shiro was. 

“Is that name supposed to mean something?” Shiro asked him, leaning up against the railing. 

“It’s just—this _guy_ I met today,” Keith said, and wrinkled his nose at the words. That didn’t seem right. It really should have gone like, “Oh, it’s just the name of a beautiful _god in human flesh_ who happens to work at the coffee shop down the street.” But even Shiro would think he was insane if he came out with that remark. 

And he _certainly_ wouldn’t mention the fact that he happened to stay at the coffee shop—Alterra—until one of his men walked in to ensure that he was still there. He definitely was. He just happened to be sneaking every possible glance he could at Lance in his Alterra apron and that septum piercing styled like a crown with rounded tips. He _certainly_ wouldn’t mention the fact that every time he heard Lance talking to his coworkers, he instantly perked up, as if it was yet another chance to memorize the sound of that man’s voice…

 _God help me_ , he groaned internally. 

“You’re here for _one day_ and you’re already smitten with a _guy you met today_ ,” Shiro snorted, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes he swore he’d give up, and slapped it onto his palm before shaking out a cig. “Want one?”

“Insincere of you,” Keith huffed.

“You quit?”

“Yeah—five _months_ ago. I still remember that cold, dreary day as if it was yesterday,” he said with a laugh as Shiro put the cig back. “I don’t mind. You can smoke—I don’t care.”

“Kind of a terrible time to quit,” his best friend said as his lighter glowed behind his cupped hand. “What with Uncle Ko dead and all.”

Shiro’s uncle Kogane and Keith’s father were one in the same, which didn’t quite strike Keith as hard as it really should have. It was convenient that his entire wardrobe was black to begin with. “Yeah. Terrible time to quit. I really regret the decision,” he sighed, leaning over the railing as if to fall into the (probably) poisonous waters. They weren’t mud-brown for nothing. 

If anything, he’d smoke for the pressure he was under, and to let it all release itself into the cloud Shiro now exhaled out into the morning air. “Remind me to tell our guys not to offer you cigarettes then. Because I know they will automatically. Ko was a chainsmoker near the end of it.”

“I’m surprised lung cancer didn’t just bite him in the ass.”

“Oh, it did. But he died from a bullet before the cancer could do it,” he said. “Which—by the way—we haven’t gone over the specifics. And some people are pretty upset that you missed the funeral—”

“Let me guess: everyone who’s on the list for attempted assassinations,” he droned. “As if I would have gone to Father’s _funeral_. Wouldn’t that have been a _death sentence_. Besides, his _body_ wasn’t even in the casket.”

Shiro rolled his eyes and said, “ _Regardless_. It _does_ come off as a sign of weakness. And some people picked up on that and stuck to it.”

“And _regardless_ —I wasn’t even in the country. So they can all go _fuck themselves_ for all I care,” he bit out with a wave of his hand. He couldn’t change the fact that his departure from France was delayed an entire day due to the wretched-awful storms. His fear of flying also didn’t help the matter at all, and his dependence on the pilot prevented him from going elsewhere to a distant commercial airline. 

“Besides, I’m sure no one would have showed up had I been there,” he said anyways. “Father would be _rolling over_ in his _grave_ if no one came to his funeral.”

Shiro snorted and agreed. They both inhaled sharply—the scent of the water and the cigarette glowing in between Shiro’s fingers. As their breaths released, Keith found himself smiling at Shiro’s profile. His friend changed so much more than he anticipated, but it was all for the better. He was starting to look a lot like Keith’s uncle—with the squarish jawline, the difficult shadow of a beard that he recalled Shiro frustratedly trying to tame several years prior. Now, it was grown out, and prematurely grey in parts. 

“The Defender’s still around,” Shiro commented, and just the word had Keith sneering, his mood souring. “If I were you, I’d start thinking about how to track this guy down. Everyone’s still on edge that he’s right in plain sight.”

“Hence me not _going_ to the funeral. For all we know, he could be a relative.”

“I seriously doubt it—but he _could_ be hired by one of our relatives who has a hankering for ‘justice’,” he said in a haughty voice that had Keith laughing. “Seriously! The Defender’s being called a vigilante these days since taking out Uncle Ko.”

Keith reached over and plucked at the wire-y white strands in Shiro’s beard. Shiro sighed again, but didn’t argue. “You seem happy,” he commented.

“I like it here.”

“No—you like that _guy_ that _lives here_.”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Shiro’s cackles rose up in the night as he dodged Keith’s attack. Eventually, they were forced to retire from the boardwalk considering now the clocks were ringing two AM, and the drunkards were likely out and about. Keith wasn’t at all worried about that fact, but people without powers—like Shiro—certainly would be.

  


  


“‘Take a break!’ They say. ‘You deserve it!’ They say!” Lance mocked as he made gross expressions locking up the front door of the shop. “‘You should _have fun_ once in a while!’”

“I don’t see why you’re complaining,” Allura said from the front counter where she was checking the drawer and counting all the dollar bills. “You really _should_ have fun. It’s not every day a Defender takes out a mafia boss who’s been _terrorizing the city_ for _decades_.”

“It was dumb luck and you know it! You _seriously_ should have been the one to get the… the what’s it called? _Fame_! You should have gotten the fame, not me,” he insisted, and paused near where he was about to straighten the bar stools. “Though I like having my name in the newspapers. A _Legendary Defender Saves The City!_ ” He propped a foot up on one of the stools, hand on his hip, fist in the air. He put too much pressure on the stool, though, and it crashed in a matter of seconds. The sound of it clattering on the ground led Allura to drop a stack of pennies with a yelp, followed by a distressed moan.

“ _Don’t_ make loud noises like that! It still freaks me out. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be paranoid for months,” she said as she ducked down and started collecting the coins up. She shouted over the counter, “And anyway! I doubt anyone’s gonna try and pull _anything_ for the next few days.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that there are still going to be damsels in distress on the East Side,” Lance insisted after having put the stool back. He flexed his muscles, and posed as Allura popped up beside the cash register again with a dull look. “Oh, come _on_! Have a little faith in me!”

“No wonder Pidge thinks you need a break. You’re always so high-strung,” she huffed. “Here are your tips—you can head out the back. I’ll finish up.”

He yelped in excitement, and rushed to grab the money. He stuffed it in his back pocket and whipped off his apron. He hurried to the back as Allura yelled out, “Be safe!” 

“Will do!” he promised, clocking out and already out the door before she could say anything else.

He whistled around the corner, and skidded to a halt when he arrived just on time to watch the most gorgeous, precious individual finish locking up the flower shop just inside the Public Market. The Market was composed of walls made of windows, and small shops within. Aside from the smoothie bars, the coffee shops, the fresh fish and restaurants, there was a flower shop filled with beautiful things he always loved to look at from across the street at Altera. And among them, was always Hunk Garrett—AKA, the _man of Lance’s dreams_.

 _Just in time_ , Lance thought devilishly as he hurriedly looked both ways and ran across the street to where Hunk was just now walking through the doors of the Public Market.

“Hunk!” he called out, jogging up to meet him at the stoplights. “Hey! How are you?”

It was hard to believe people as perfect as Hunk were allowed to exist. At the time Lance intersected him at the stop lights, he had his heavy black dreads in a bun, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Lance had never encountered such a beautiful specimen in his _life_. The one time Lance was blessed enough to run into the same gym as Hunk, he damn near ascended into Heaven on the spot. Just from passing by, you’d never expect such _rippling pecs_ or _chiseled and defined biceps_ from a softy like Hunk. It was like the second in between relaxing and flexing, some Greek god swooped in and brought angelic lights with it.

 _Sweet baby Jesus_ , Lance thought as Hunk turned, and the sunset gleamed off of his soft-yet-flawless jawline. 

“Oh! Hey Lance—I thought I recognized your voice,” Hunk said, and his smile could cure Lance of any and all diseases. “I mean. Just going off of when you call my name at Altera. How was work?”

“It was great, actually,” Lance said, beaming and just reveling in Hunk’s attention. “I’m just kinda beat is all. What are you doing after this?”

“Back to the apartment it is for me. And also—I meant to ask this afternoon when I stopped by, but I could have _sworn_ you had a cut on your cheek. It still looks pretty swollen,” he commented, pointing to Lance’s face just as the walk sign blinked on. 

Lance slapped his hand over where the cut used to be. His restoration powers were shit as it was, and it was just his luck that his crush noticed the blemish before it fully disappeared. Allura was the one blessed with all the restorative powers, and if it weren’t for her coming in after the battle with Ko, Lance _definitely_ would have been a goner.

“Oh! Uh—I just—I’m not on great terms with my cat yet! Yeah—she’s still just as aggressive as she was at the humane society,” Lance squeaked out, wincing as Hunk hummed thoughtfully, bounding up onto the sidewalk and turning in the direction of home. 

“That’s still so cool that you guys adopted an old girl like Seafoam. I bet those older cats just get so depressed, living their lives in cages,” he said, and Lance let out a breath of relief. “But anyways—I’m heading this way. I’ll see you sometime!”

“Yeah, sometime,” Lance said, waving Hunk off and taking a long two seconds just to stare at Hunk’s marble buns before making his way around the adjacent side of the building so he could scream silently into the night. As if his victory the other day wasn’t _great enough_ , suddenly _now_ the universe gave him permission to _talk to Hunk?_ It was unbelievable. Pidge would never believe this.

He finished his little victory-prance before bounding off down the sidewalk with thrilled skips.

Another great day for Lance McClain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Free to chat with me on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)!


	2. aesthetic coffee shops in the third ward: a summary

Lance burst into the apartment singing, “ _[Q](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whwe0KD_rGw)uiero ver bailar tu pelo, quiero ser tu ritmo! Que le enseñes a mi boca—!_ ”

“ _Enough_ with the Justin _Bieber_! I can never catch a break with you,” Pidge cried out from within the apartment, but Lance was letting his hips roll, feet rocking back and forth as he sashayed down the hall, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“C’mon, sing!” he shouted, sliding into the living room, arms up before he totally crashed into the rapping and failed miserably. He yelped as Pidge chucked a pillow at him, which sent him scrambling and tripping over the rug. “Ey ey ey! No pillow-throwing!” he cried out, jumping to keep his balance. 

He landed on one foot, and whipped his arm out to block their next attack. He ended up accidentally spiking it into the glass coffee table, and they both held their breaths before letting it out with a sigh. Another coffee table saved, no thanks to Lance.

“Struggles of superhuman strength—you can never be sure when you’ll accidentally _break something next_ ,” Pidge remarked.

“H-Hey! I do pretty well. I’m a softy!” Lance exclaimed, crossing his arms and stomping his feet on the rug.

“Yeah, because no one would expect super-strength coming from a guy with _sticks for arms_ ,” they retorted, sticking their tongue out at him.

The music was still in his earbuds, so he continued to dance as he watched Pidge do their thing. They were lounging on the couch, headphones on, and laptop glowing blue on their face. Pidge’s hair was in all sorts of directions when it was pulled back from their face like that. With their hair being out of their face for once, it was just another way for Lance to see their ultimate annoyance with him.

“I can’t imagine Hunk’s all that into _annoying, dancing, singing, Latino b—_ ” They yelped as Lance flung one of the fallen pillows at them. He dove for Pidge across the coffee table, and as he tackled them with tickles, Pidge howled with laughter, kicking their feet out and trying to push Lance away.

Eventually, he gave up so they could set their laptop aside with a huff. “Don’t _do that_ when I’m _working_ ,” they whined. “What’s got you so rambunctious?”

Lance flopped back on the cushions, throwing his arms over them, and with a deep sigh, he deflated into absolute bliss against them. “I just talked to Hunk today… It was a religious experience,” he breathed.

“Yeah? What’d the big guy have to say?” they asked, readjusting their headphones as Lance recalled the conversation again. A flurry of warm, happy thoughts blossomed in his chest.

“He said it was neat that we adopted Seafoam.”

“Green.”

“It’s totally just Seafoam.”

“You keep subtracting the ‘Green’ part! That’s the entire reason why we picked that name in the first place,” they cried out. Just as Lance was about to argue against it—though Pidge was entirely right—he was stopped by their abrupt confusion. “Wait—where is Green anyways?”

As Lance perked up and went in search of Seafoam Green as the sun settled beneath the horizon, and in the afterglow of its light, Keith spent his evening farther from Lance’s apartment, and closer to the Public Market where he lived on the riverwalk. In fact, he was leaving the Third Ward with every intent of making his appearance now or never. It seemed as though only his most trusted comrades were aware of his arrival in Milwaukee, which meant that eventually, he would have to deal with _everyone else_ , and the tasks his father let slip between his fingers. 

Most of what Keith’s father dealt was confiscated, and the suppliers were scattering in fear of the repercussions of being associated with the mess at the shipyards on Lake Michigan that were still under investigation. Despite the fact that he was never fully associated with the business, the thought of _everything_ being confiscated made starting over so much worse. Just _knowing_ that their supplies were still in existence—just under constant surveillance elsewhere—was bullshit.

So much had been uprooted in the last week, and so many seemingly trustworthy people were taken from them. Keith seethed at the thought of it—of all the places a Defender could have found his father. On top of the massive explosions following the event, the building was essentially reduced to charred rubble. The remains were minimal, and among them—unfortunately—happened to be no signs of the Defender anywhere.

Keith didn’t see the destruction himself, but Shiro’s pictures of it, and the media’s coverage of the event, happened to be enough for him to determine that no average person with powers could have lived through that. Being dealt more than one card—on top of the supposed super strength—like restoration was enough to convince Keith that this Defender was, was an opponent only he and Shiro could exterminate.

The car rolled up parking garage beneath an apartment complex where he was escorted to the top floor. In the process between exiting the car, and arriving at his destination, he spent a significant amount of time staring at himself through the elevator’s spotless mirrors, and studying the way his guards solidified themselves at his side like stone statues. He was in his leather jacket that evening, and regardless of the formal uniforms the guards wore, he tended to sport jeans and boots. His father did so much more to conceal his identity—hats and sunglasses, surgical masks—but Keith could never tolerate glasses, let alone _sunglasses_. 

Hats ruined his hair anyways.

His mother always said he was rude to begin with, and the politeness behind the surgical masks never completely settled in. It was like putting a bandage on a cut—the bandage itself distracted him until he tore it off and balled it up into the trash.

The elevator doors opened, and he was faced with Shiro’s figure waiting for him, which parted his reflection on the door. “Just on time,” Shiro commented.

“I should hope so,” Keith huffed.

“You really should do more to disguise yourself,” his best friend huffed, and pointedly looked at the guards as he escorted Keith down the hallway. “Besides—isn’t that a fad people with powers have these days?”

“Everyone thinks I’m nothing but a ghost anyways,” Keith replied. “That was the whole reason why my father pretended I was dead to him rather than halfway across the world.”

“That was just a _rumor_ that you died. I found it kind of hilarious,” Shiro murmured, sounding slightly offended by the flippant way Keith addressed it. He _completely_ remembered the day the rumor started, and how Shiro FaceTimed him when he was seventeen, on the day he arrived in Italy. Shiro laughed his _ass off_ into the camera before brushing away a tear and saying, “Whoo boy, I’m so glad I went along with it when our aunt asked me if you died.”

Keith sighed and said, “Well, I did absolutely _nothing_ to dissuade them from it. And you helped with that, somewhat.”

That evening, in the quiet sanctuary of an ambiguous penthouse Keith was shown the security footage of what could be considered the lamest fucking fight-attempt known to mankind. Keith was fully aware of what his father was capable of—shadows were something Keith _lived_ by because of that man—but even then Keith’s powers were a combination of two factors: his father, and his mother. That said, his father was an incredible force and the reason he was able to maintain as much power as he had.

But the lamest part of the fight was the Defender himself. It was the first _actual_ footage Keith witnessed of his father’s death, and it was all scavenged from the wireless security camera on sight that went down in ashes that night. “He wasn’t alone,” Shiro said. “The media wouldn’t have seen everything that happened before the Defender broke through the warehouse building. He seems to be on a team of three—and the woman there has an incredible invisibility palette. The only color it seems she can’t take away is white, which is to be expected, and is why she always wears black.”

“Impressive,” Keith hummed. “Is that all she can do?”

“We’re under the impression that she has restorative powers as well. She healed the Defender who killed Uncle Ko,” he continued, and gestured for one of the tech guys to pull up a severely zoomed-in photograph that was touched up and rendered to produce a hyperrealistic semi-illustrated version of the Defender partially-invisible under his partner’s powers, emerging from the cloak of total coverage to swing the arc of a bow. 

The motion of it was frozen in the photograph, but Keith could see how vicious of a blow that must have been on his father, who had been tracking the woman’s shadow rather than that of the Defender who killed him just a frame after this photograph was taken.

“The bow,” Keith said, “Is it related to any of his powers?”

“No. He just has super strength—it enhances the power of his bow, though. It seems to have been specially made as well to accommodate for his strength. The chord itself would be like an average man trying to bend the suspension on a bridge,” the tech guy said. “And coupled with the invisibility Defender…”

“The bow is completely black as well. Dark hues seem to be her comfort zone,” another said. “Which is convenient for you, sir.”

“Incredibly so,” he hummed in agreement.

“You aren’t _seriously_ considering fighting any of them, are you?” Shiro countered. “My men and I can take care of them.”

“Show me your plans and I might reconsider,” Keith said, and it took effort to move his eyes away from the Defenders in their black, vigilante costumes, and the distracted fury on his father’s face in the photograph.

  


  


Lance gradually, eventually, woke up after blinking his eyes awake to the sensation of Seafoam laying her fat ass on his stomach. He spent a solid few minutes just lying there, feeling the way his stomach hollowed out when he exhaled, and felt her dip in with all her fluff and fur. Eventually, he gathered the momentum to search for his phone among the sheets. And, eventually, he managed to get out of bed once and for all, and escape the wrath of Seafoam’s fury when he moved.

“I keep having these ridiculous dreams about Hunk,” Lance whined in the morning as he flopped onto the couch in their living room. It was a surprise to find Pidge awake and looking semi-well-rested, but there they were, making coffee in the kitchen. Lance could smell it from his room, and every time he smelled Alterra coffee beans, he was thrust into the energy work always provided him with.

“Please don’t tell me about it,” they said.

“I think I’ve been getting them more frequently ever since the dealio with Ko. I don’t have anything to do now! I want to go out again! When are we gonna pull another heist?” he whined. “Milwaukee is _full_ of potential heists.”

“You make it sound like a dangerous place. It’s not that bad,” they huffed, pouting at him from over the countertop. “Even my brother agrees that it’s not that dangerous! And you _know_ how much of a safety-freak he is. I spent my entire childhood wearing kneepads because of him!”

Lance snorted and tried to picture small Pidge engulfed by safety gear and bubblewrap. “I can see it. But in all my dreams the Public Market turns into this, like, _maze—_ ”

“It _is_ a maze—”

“—trying to find _Hunk_. And when I find him I’m like ‘Ok. I’m gonna profess my undying love to him.’ And so I _do_ , and he just changes the conversation! And every time without fail we end up sleeping together but the entire time he’s talking about a video game or something that he’s playing. Like, he doesn’t even care that we’re totally in the throes of love—”

“Oh my _God_. I knew this was gonna get sexual but I told myself that your subconscious wouldn’t do that, but it _did_. And now I feel _betrayed_.”

“I just… I really want Hunk to realize that we are _perfect for each other—_ ”

“Ok, but do you really know _anything_ about this guy?”

“ _Yes!_ I totally _do_ know stuff about this guy!” he cried out. “He works at the flower shop in the Public Market! And… he a personal trainer at the gym I sometimes go to—”

“And break the equipment at…”

“That was _one time_. And anyways, Hunk volunteers at a nursing home on the other side of the city where his grandma used to live, and I just think it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard…”

“You mean that his grandma died?”

“ _No!_ I _mean_ that he works at a nursing home! For free! He does everything out of the goodness of his heart and he is the purest soul I know. _You_ can’t even compare to him,” he concluded.

Pidge rolled their eyes and huffed, “So _anyway_ —aren’t you leaving for work soon? Which means you should probably stop bothering me.”

Lance squeaked in horror as he double-checked the time on his phone. He could have _sworn_ he woke up at nine, it couldn’t be… 

_This is what you get for scrolling through Instagram for an hour before getting the fuck out of bed_ , his brain told him as he scrambled for his room and hunted down a proper outfit for the day. _Curse_ his stupidly-comfortable bed for squeezing and hour out of his day! 

Just as he was about to cruise out the door, Pidge shouted, “Don’t forget to change your patch! You got the alert, right? Please tell me you didn’t mute the notification.”

“I… did _not_ mute it!” Lance cried out, backpedaling as he thought, _I just… put my phone into night mode… which conveniently silences all my notifications…_

He hurried to their designated cabinet in the bathroom for the patches. They were encased in a metal box—now old and worn from use—with a military-grade emblem embossed on the top. He plucked the sticky corner off the skin from his bicep, and counted to three before ripping the whole thing off. Pidge was cackling in the living room as Lance cried out in agony at it. 

They came in not long after Lance tore into a new pack and handed Pidge’s half to them. Together, they stuck it to their opposite arms and poked and prodded at the skin where the old patch was. He was so distracted by their shenanigans that he nearly forgot about work. 

“ _Oh!_ Gotta go! Tell me if you find something new to do tonight!” he shouted as he darted through the door and spun down the hall.

He was out the door before Pidge could even say another word. He was running down the street to the Public Market before Allura could chew him out for being a minute late. He was clocking in just in time to throw on an apron, and spin up the cash register where the doorbell chimed, and a familiar black-haired man walked through. 

Lance wasn’t one to forget faces, especially when they came back day after day, but there was something about this one’s distinctly tired eyes that appealed to him. He had the sort of composure that made you wonder, “ _Damn_ , what kind of shit did _he_ go through the night before?” Whatever the case, Lance just couldn’t help but be nice to him in hopes that something worked out one of these days.

“Back again, I see,” Lance jested as the guy sidled up to the cash register with a meek smile.

“Seems so. Nice to see you again, Lance,” he said.

“What’ll it be this time?”

“I might try your cappuccino—I heard it’s good,” the guy said, glancing up at the menu to catch the price as Lance rung it up. “For here is fine.”

“Mug it is,” he chimed in and accepted the cash. “Have you been to Alterra before?”

“Ah—no. I’m not really… from around here.”

“Where are you from then?”

“I’ve been traveling. I was just in France,” he confessed, and at Lance’s appreciative hum, the man smiled wider and laughed a little. “It’s not that exciting.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Lance teased, just as the door chimed again. He would recognize those beautiful dreads anywhere. “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime…?”

“Keith,” the guy said, accepting the change Lance distractedly passed to him.

As Keith walked off, Lance’s attention instantly went to the next customer so he could get to Hunk faster. When the time finally came to ring up Hunk’s raspberry chai—extra concentrate, extra shot of espresso, no foam—he was beaming and already ringing it up. “Nice to see you again,” Hunk said.

“Nice to see _you_. How was your morning?” Lance asked, leaning up against the counter as Hunk busied himself with pulling out his card.

“ _Great_ , actually,” he laughed, looking up briefly to make eye contact with Lance and completely _rock his world_ for a solid two seconds before he was looking down again and sliding the card over. As Lance swiped it, he said, “I don’t know why though. I just woke up and… the day was already great. I made some _tea_ , sat out on the _balcony_ … it was just really nice. And it helps that the weather is perfect to be outside.”

Lance could feel himself bubbling up in the form of heart-shaped balloons as he transcended onto the glorious plain of existence where he could listen to Hunk describe his morning over and over again. He could watch the way Hunk pulled back his dreads on repeat for hours—which he did before. There was a video on one of Hunk’s Instagram posts where in the background, he flipped his hair and it was perhaps the most majestic thing ever caught on camera.

Lance was so enthralled by Hunk rattling on about how his boss called in and said he wouldn’t have to work today, that he completely missed Keith across the room, who’s expression practically snapped in two. 

Keith was quick to realize what sort of guy Lance was: charismatic, loud, _beautiful_ … But overall, the way he centered his attention on people was nothing like the way he was looking at that tall, dark, and handsome guy standing at the counter now. 

_This is unbelievable_ , Keith seethed internally as Lance leant his elbows on the counter and beamed dreamily up at the guy who was now pulling his dreads back into a knot. Keith subconsciously tugged on the longer ends of his hair with a frown. His hair was _almost_ long enough for a bun…

Since there weren’t any other customers, that _guy_ stood around there talking to Lance for a solid fifteen minutes, and Keith sat through every second of it transitioning from hopelessness to raw fury. While he felt as though he had no right to be feeling so bitter about this, it didn’t stop him from boiling over the idea of Lance, and how frequently he thought of Lance overnight. How he _took time out of his day_ to stop by Alterra again, just to see Lance and talk to him for a moment, if that. 

Keith was so distracted by his anger that he hadn’t realized the tall-dark-and-handsome guy left until he looked up from his blank computer screen and saw the counter empty, and felt someone’s eyes on him. It was a sensation that he was used to, and overcame a while ago, but the fact that it happened to be _Lance_ looking at him made the sensation turn into a warm blossom in his chest, like downing a hot beverage and feeling its heat seep through every part of him. Lance looked away quickly, and seemed to smile to himself as he turned to his coworker and started talking to them.

He could have sworn the look Lance just gave him was… _pity_. Or maybe curiosity? Keith couldn’t be sure, but it did wonders to make him forget about the customer that stole Lance’s heart and took it with him out the door. Whatever it happened to be, eventually the glory of it faded, and Keith was left scowling at his computer until he finished his coffee and decided that this wasn’t worth the effort. 

He shut his computer and stuffed it into his bag before heading over to dump the mug along with all the other dirty dishes. Just as he did, the counter flipped up, and he was startled to find Lance hurrying out to fetch the whole bus-pan. 

“You know,” Lance said, swinging in and plucking up the pan with such ease that it startled Keith into blushing, “you look better when you smile. Try it more often.” With that, he winked at Keith before ducking under the counter yet again.

Keith hurried out of Alterra before he could say something stupid and stutter like an idiot. He was sure he briefly terrified his guards who were waiting in the car, because he saw one of them jump in the passenger’s seat. 

He turned away and combed his hands through his hair with a sigh. _Maybe this isn’t a waste of time after all_ , he thought as he headed back to the car and proceeded to think about Lance for the rest of the day.

While Keith thought of Lance, Lance thought of Hunk, and in the process of his vivid mental fantasies, he was interrupted by a familiar beep behind him. The sound never ceased to send a spark of adrenaline through him, and how quickly he turned to face it, and the shock it gave Allura as she was fetching her phone. 

“Seems like we have a new appointment,” she said, smiling weakly as Lance threw his fists in the air and shrieked, “ _Yes!_ Finally! I can only go so many days without—”

“Punching someone in the face?” she finished. He dropped his hands to his sides and pouted at her as she smirked at him. “I always did tell Pidge that you had an anger management issue.”

“I do _not!_ ” he cried out, grumbling to himself as he sidled up alongside her to see the alert she was sent.

“Pidge commissioned… guard duty for us,” Allura sighed, rolling her eyes as she hummed, “Well _that’s_ no fun…”

“Well, I _did_ tell her to get us a heist…” he hummed, and instantly stomped his feet in despair. “But _guard duty_ isn’t a heist! That’s, like, what _lame_ Defenders do…”

Allura scowled at him, silently pleading that he keep his mouth shut. At last, she put her phone away and tucked away a stray strand of her white hair. “It’s better than nothing. And it’s a high profile job, considering the mess we caused earlier this week. The higher ups will be hunting down every last thread of Ko’s roots. His power supply has _got_ to be on everyone’s radar ever since the media came out with the government having confiscated it,” she told him in her discrete mumble that could hardly be understood, even from as close as Lance was standing.

He sighed, and leant a hip against the counter with yet another huff. “I just want to… I don’t know. Maybe I should pick up running again or something. Ever since starting the patches I haven’t been able to sit still.”

“Remarkable that you picked a _coffee shop_ as your day job,” she commented smugly, crossing her arms as Lance glared at her.

“Um, in case you haven’t noticed, _we_ are rather busy,” Lance said, noting the fact that the bell over the door just rang. “ _Get back to work!_ Shoo!” he cried out, waving his arms at her as he hurried back to the cash register. He took a deep breath, and switched on his charming smile for the masses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get back home on Saturday! So I'll post Saturday evening when I actually have wifi XD I've written a good 40k since being on vacation, so... all next week will be updates. KEEP YOUR EYE OUT FOR ME SLIDING INTO YOUR EMAIL SUBSCRIPTIONS because I'll be there lol
> 
> Also, what would Coran's power be? I still have no clue, but he'll come in later.
> 
> You can fight me on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) :D


	3. guard duty schmard duty

“Guard duty, schmard duty. Duty, duty, duty. Give me the booty, woo!” Lance cried out, throwing his arms up at Pidge, but they merely glared at him before glaring at Allura.

“Why did we let him into this team?”

Allura was looking for something to hang off of—like a ledge or monkey bars or something—since she liked to practice her pull-ups when they weren’t doing. Which happened to be every second of this _goddamn_ “heist”. It was not a heist, and Lance was still bitter about it. 

She jumped up and grabbed onto the door frame overhead. “I… think it was because Iverson said we needed muscle.”

“Tada!” Lance said, and was pitched forward by Allura smacking him upside of the head.

“ _Which_ , I could totally provide. But not many people can lift entire cars, powers or not, _Blue_ ,” she said, trying to heave herself up just by her fingertips. It worked, but not after a little squirming and kicking of her feet several inches off the ground. Pidge crossed their arms and watched from afar as Allura lifted herself up on the steel-armored door.

Lance rubbed the back of his head and turned to scowl at her just as they heard the echo of a door opening across the expanse. 

It was well-known how much power Ko happened to be producing and supplying during his years in the illegal business of distributing the powder. It was the sort of thing high schools trained their students for throughout the expanse of _years_ before any of the students showed signs of power at all. The dosages were so small during those days that they were hardly considered ten percent of the patches he, Allura, and Pidge wore that day they heard the intruders come in.

The powder itself was slimmed through a heating process and made into a film that their patches secured with skin-colored sticky-gauze. For the most part, it blended into the skin with little more than a faint outline. Eventually, it would wear out just like any bandage, and even if Lance didn’t change a dead patch for several days, he’d still be at the top of his game. Years of constant exposure to it made his powers less likely to retreat, but their dependance on it was what made Ko such a powerful “drug lord”, if you could even call it a drug.

Though, considering the alternate options of exposure—injection, edibles, inhalation—those were the simpler methods Ko tended to cater to. The military grade patches Lance wore were not only ridiculously expensive, but also difficult to manufacture. He remembered the day he got his first full patch, and the energy high it gave him was off the charts. He nearly got kicked out of the program with how intense of a reaction he had to it. Sure, there were variations of strength powers, and he tended to fall on the “average” side of those, but his results tended to lean towards extreme circumstances. It was also why the government chose to pay for all his prescription patches and commission him—he scored high with them because not only were his powers so extreme, but his mentality was exactly what they were looking for when it came to a paid vigilante.

“Did you hear that?” Pidge whispered as they stepped forward ahead of the door. Allura dropped down, and in between her hands leaving the ledge and her feet touching the floor, she vanished completely from sight. Lance watched as her black sclera contacts vanished along with the rest of her. 

But the thing about Ko’s stash was that the number of paying customers was in the hundreds, perhaps even _thousands_ —and every last one of them was waiting for their delivery. It meant that before anyone could even consider stepping into the vault where Ko’s supply was, they had to go past the room where the Defenders were stationed in one half of a whole football field underground. The other half happened to be other high-profile confiscated items guarded by the military.

Even the echoes seemed to silence themselves as their paranoia mounted. The door across the room gradually fell away, and clanked against the wall with a hollow _thunk_.

Lance felt Allura pass behind him—her familiar hand grazing the small of his back as she prowled towards where Pidge stood. Pidge sighed out their boredom, and called out, “Well if that isn’t _weird_ and _cliché._ If you wanna come out and play, come _dance with us_!” 

“Oh my _God_ , Green,” Lance groaned, and they snorted and flipped him off discretely behind their back.

“You two can never take things seriously,” Allura muttered under her breath. Lance was distracted by the flash of her white teeth before his gaze focused on the way the lights seemed to spiral into themselves, and suck away every semblance of a glow rising up towards them.

Tendrils of shadows slid through the door, crawling up the walls and encasing the silver surface in such raw darkness, it occurred to Lance that nothing could possibly exist behind it. As the wall turned to a black hole, a lighter figure stepped through it.

The intruder’s clothes were black, but nothing compared to the profound darkness behind him, and lingering at his feet. Lance was certain it wasn’t just _him_ who was struck with the familiarity of it, but Ko was never one to let his darkness leak like that. Lance was certain the man wasn’t capable of pitching an entire room into darkness like this guy did in a matter of seconds.

The man threw his arms forward, and the shadows rushed to fill in and consume every last speck of light. Lance swung out his bow in an instant, flicking out an arrow just as the light sucked itself out from around his feet, and crowded up around his legs, his torso, his arms—

_CLAP!_

The man’s hands slapped together, and in an instant the air condensed around them, as if solidifying. Lance gasped, his breath escaping him and catching in the darkness that squeezed them like the strong grip of a massive hand. It occurred to him that this was exactly how it felt being pressed into a small, unbreakable room.

He heard Allura cry out, the invisibility flickering off as they were suddenly wedged together. Two slivers of real-life cut through the darkness as it closed in on them. The room expanded around them, revealing itself as the shadows filled themselves in to the long strip of utter darkness stretching down the length of the entire room. 

At that moment, darkness became nothing more than a pliable object to the man now strolling across the concrete floor.

Lance couldn’t breathe until the film over his eyes broke away, his face exposed through the black wall along with Allura and Pidge beside him. “Blue—can you push through?” Allura asked.

He was panting with the effort to fill his lungs again before he was able to try and shove himself through. He felt a fraction of the shadow give, but at that point, the man holding up the shadow wall was already halfway to them. With just a clench of his fist, the wall punched the air out of Lance’s lungs again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swore, straining with the effort to push against the attacks he knew then were being inflicted on Allura and Pidge as well.

—his stomach—

—his head—

—kicking out his legs—

_This guy isn’t even touching me_ , Lance thought in a panic as he was forced to his knees, his fingertips just _barely_ grazing the edge of the shadows.

The man’s shadow fell in front of him, and someone behind him said, “Sir—I wouldn’t get too close to them.”

Lance sneered up at them, and faltered at the face staring down at him. The helmet he wore mimicked the oblong structure of a reptilian. Instead of scales, the surface was slick and clean, like an untouched motorcycle helmet. It was slim and seemed to fit perfectly to the structure of the man’s head, down to the way it curved around his neck and arced around his Adam’s apple. 

“Blue, is it? Surprised to see you here,” the man said, voice crystal clear from inside the helmet—as if projected by speakers. “You may be strong,” he continued when Lance merely glared at him, “but you can’t fight something that doesn’t have a significant mass. You may have met my father, but his shadow-shows are _nothing_ compared to what I can do, _Defender_.”

He heard a nearly indistinct gasp from Allura before one of the other men came forward. Pidge snarled something at him as he grabbed Allura by the chin and lifted it up. She wrestled her head out of his grasp and let herself flicker out of focus, and dissolve into the shadows behind her. 

“Don’t bother with their disguises,” the man before Lance said. “After this we can just grab their names from the servers they keep _would-be vigilantes_ on.”

“You wouldn’t find _anything—_ ” Pidge snarled, distracting the man as the first of Lance’s knuckles escaped the blackhole they were in. He gripped them on the edge of the solid black wall, and heaved his hand out. As soon as his hand escaped, someone cracked their fist across Pidge’s face and hauled them out of the wall. 

“ _Green!_ ” Allura shouted as Pidge was thrown across the floor in a heap. The shadow she cast leapt up to her in an instant, pinning her to the ground with its hands around her neck, her torso, her legs. 

Lance roared as he shoved himself out of the wall so hard, he flew forward several feet and tackled the man in the helmet to the ground. As he did, the wall chased after him—tendrils of shadows blanketed themselves over Lance and the man and sent him soaring into the air.

He kicked off the wall, and felt something grip his bow and send him jerking back to it. The chord wedged itself beneath his arms, and he grabbed onto the metallic handhold as he fell through it, dangling several feet off the ground. 

His movements were rapid, and by the time he freed himself of his bow and let it topple to the ground behind him, he was sprinting and screaming, “ _Green—now!_ ”

Pidge was on the ground, swinging their feet out and sending a sweep of iridescent green roots across the ground in the form of geometric lines. It lit up the darkness, and cut through the shadows as it had on other occasions with Ko. It beamed around Allura as she materialized and threw herself away from the suffocating wall they were trapped in. 

In an instant the three of them were gone from thin air, and Lance clasped his hand over his mouth to keep his breath from escaping him, and alerting the man in the helmet. His companion—the one who grabbed Allura—wore a partial mask that exposed his beard of scattered silver hairs.

With everyone’s feet moving at once, Lance and the others took their opportunity to run from the claws of their shadows. Lance skidded as he recalled the missing piece of himself—the bow—and ran back to it. He could already sense Allura seething internally.

Pidge’s green sparks dissipated by the time the man reached for Lance’s bow on the ground. Lance dove himself across the floor, the quick motion difficult for Allura to track. He materialized like a collection of bokeh pixels for the split second it took for him to swipe his bow up, and launch himself off the ground—

—only to have his foot grabbed, and his entire body thrust into a wave of blackness bolting up from the man’s own shadow.

A shock of green shot up from beneath them where Pidge kicked their feet out and send pipelines of their electric glow up and around where Lance squeezed himself out of the shadows. He twisted around midair, yanking an arrow out from the sheath at his side, and notched it before he ever hit the ground.

The chord strained and let loose. 

The arrow disappeared into the abyss that claimed the entire crew coming after them. They seemed to carry the weight of the shadows as if it was nothing—as if it hadn’t just crushed and squeezed the air out of Lance’s lungs. They melded forward as one, like they were encompassed in pure black plastic wrap.

“It’s just the guy in the helmet,” Allura’s voice drifted past Lance. “We need to take him out.”

“I can’t—fucking see h—” Lance started, and threw up his bow in the instant it took for him to activate the narrow shield that swept up off the sides of the handle. The gunshots sparked as they tore into the shield, and he braced Allura behind him before she was able to turn him invisible once more.

“ _Green!_ Take out the firearms!” she shouted.

“On it— _bow!_ ” they screamed from behind, coming in fast as both Allura and Lance ducked. He lifted his bow over them, and the second he felt Pidge’s weight shove into the surface of the shield, he launched her as high as he possibly could.

From the soles of their feet blossomed a web of electric green sparks. With a scream, they threw their arms out—the sound of weapons snapping and detonating in their users’ hands sent a sharp echo through the room. One of them discharged before the explosion, and as Lance screamed for Allura to mask Pidge, something pierced his shoulder like a needle puncturing through flesh and muscle.

He staggered, tripped, and collapsed before he could catch himself. The second he did, the sound triggered one of them to run and grab him through the invisible film Allura had over him—droplets of blood seemed to have escaped her hold on him. 

The man in the helmet pinned him down and slammed his fist across Lance’s face. A gush of warmth seeped around his nose, and sent his eyes watering before he could stop them. He reached up and grabbed for the helmet as someone was screaming, “ _Don’t! Sir—!_ ”

Lance didn’t even have to use all that much effort to swing his wounded arm up and crack his fist across the man’s helmet. An audible crunch sounded, and sent the man falling to the side and across the floor as his helmet splintered around where Lance dented it. Lance heaved himself off the ground and spat at the man coming towards him, “Try and fight me with your bare hands! _TRY IT!_ ”

The guy stuttered in his tracks, looking back at the cracked helmet his boss was wearing. 

“Blue—!” Allura’s voice rose up, just as she screamed under the sound of something crackling through the air. It was more intense than the electrical currents Pidge sent out, and Lance looked just as Allura’s chameleon-like exterior shattered and sent her crumbling to the ground. Frayed edges of sharp white sparks sizzled around her before she fell unconscious.

Her name choked up in his throat, forcing himself to _stop_ and think _rationally_.

He directed his attention to the bearded man standing over her. The one who tried to rip off her disguise.

“ _You!_ ” Lance seethed, seeing as Pidge’s green glow spread and seemed to soak the air with its potency. He could taste the sparks on his tongue as he roared and ran for the man with the electric, metal prosthetic.

Lance threw his fist out, ignoring the heat that swelled in his shoulder and how it yearned to be put to rest and heal. The man ducked back, dodging Lance’s attack as he went in again—and again—His foot flew up and landed a kick to the guy’s stomach. The man dropped to the ground in an instant, twisting onto the floor and clutching at his abdomen where he would probably suffer a broken rib or two.

Pidge was screaming so loud that the electricity in the air jolted everyone on the premises. Lance, by some miracle, managed to stay standing as he searched for the source of this all-encompassing green glow. He ran to Allura and swept her up off the ground just as a horde of people started through the door opposite the vault. He recognized the uniforms, and he also recognized Pidge’s hoarse, strained gasps from overexerting their powers.

Lance jogged over to Pidge where they were on the ground surrounded by three other bodies on the ground. The fabric over her face was bloodied and puffy where her face was swollen up. Lance’s heart was drumming through his chest as he lowered Allura for the time it took to heave Pidge up onto his back. He picked her back up again, and looked back to where the bearded guy was starting to rise again, clutching at a probably-broken rib. 

Behind him, the man in the helmet was getting to his feet. He lifted like one of his shadows, and as he collected black substance at his feet, he screamed:

“ _You can’t end me so easily, Blue Defender!_ ”

_Shit we need to leave_ , Lance thought in a panic, running as the backup guards suddenly seemed to realize the severity of the problem.

Lance ran like his life depended on it. He could feel Pidge’s legs tense themselves around his torso, and Allura’s head bob and tip onto his shoulder. The entire room beyond—where other valuable confiscated items were—was pitch black and blinking with the red warning lights mounted on distant walls and cages. He skidded around the corner, feet slipping as his arm screamed for him to stop for one fucking second and reassess the situation. 

The guards behind him were shouting—they listened as their voices were swallowed up by the black wall threatening to take over the entire room they were running through.

When they got to the exit, Lance cursed through clenched teeth, skidding to a halt in front of where the security door locked and braced itself for the intruders. 

They were trapped.

“Shit—do you think you can pry it open?” Pidge asked. “Your shoulder—”

“It’s not bleeding,” Lance said as he lowered Allura, and Pidge got off of him.

“My shirt is soaked through with your blood,” they argued.

“Well, if you say it’s not bleeding, then it’s easier to believe it,” he argued, rushing towards the door and snapping his fingers for a bit of light.

“I don’t have much left,” they warned, but swept their foot across the ground as if exposing the light beneath the dust. She kicked it towards him, and it tracked the possible spaces for Lance to grab hold of the door.

It flickered like a broken bulb as Lance tucked his fingers underneath the door, hearing the echo of people screaming far behind him. He wrenched through the metal, raising it slightly for handholds before he began to heave it up. “Lift with your legs!” Pidge chanted in a whisper. “Go, go, go—if anyone can do this, Blue can do it, yada-yada-yada!”

“This is why _I’m_ the cheerleader—and—you— _aren’t!_ ” he shouted as he thrust the door up through the bolts underground, and bent the locks on the sides. 

The door screamed under the force Lance pushed it through. He wedged himself under the gap, and screamed for Pidge to pull Allura through. He could feel the heat on his arm growing crusty and cool as the blood dried and dripped from his bicep. He could feel the fabric sticking to his shoulder, and tear as something strained on his legs and torso through the dark.

“ _No—_ no, no, no,” he cried out, practically weeping with the effort to force his arm to function. He took a step through the door, but the second he lifted his leg, the shadows pulled on it. 

“ _So you thought you could escape me…_ ” he heard the man’s voice taunt from far behind, feet scuffing through the corridors towards where Lance was stuck between staying still, or being dragged back. 

“You can do this, c’mon,” Pidge hissed at Lance. “Don’t fucking act like a bunch of shadows have control over you—”

“Even if you do get out of this,” the man said, each inch closer feeling like an elephant was thrusting its head into Lance’s gut, “I will find you. And I will make your life a _living hell._ ”

“Green—” Lance bit out, barely above a whisper. “I need—you to grab me by the torso and pull.”

“That’s not gonna—”

“ _I don’t fucking care!_ Pretend it is and it will!” he screamed, and they ran forward and wedged themself around his torso. They counted to three, and heaved with all their might.

Lance screamed as he pried himself through the solidified shadows like he was escaping a bath of drying concrete. He collapsed through, tripping, and fell on top of Pidge as the door slammed over the shadows that sucked themselves back through. The man gave up the chase.

For the moment.

  


  


Avonaco Kolivan was a Cheyenne who was famously known for his work in the agency that commissioned the Blue, Green, and White Defender team. What made him so popular happened to be his natural powers that didn’t depend on patches or other methods that used drugs, and while his powers were subtle and easy to overlook, they were miraculous when they showed themselves. Lance was always in awe when it occurred to him that such a famous Defender was their rep in the government agency.

Allura woke up in the infirmary after the doctor injected her with power to supplement her drained patch. After that, she was able to recover on her own. “It seemed like her power and the buildup of it was completely sapped—and you said this happened after one of Ko’s men electrocuted her?” their rep, Kolivan, asked outside of Allura’s room. 

“Yeah. He, um… he had a graying beard and a metal arm,” Pidge explained. “But from what I saw, it wasn’t like _my_ electrocution. It was definitely something beyond electricity altogether.”

“But I _felt it_. It was like a shock of sorts,” Lance insisted, getting all jittery just thinking about it. It didn’t help that his arm was now in a sling so he couldn’t shake it out. “But… is she gonna be okay? I mean, it sapped her power, but she’s got it back, right?”

“She has to build up to it again. It could take a month, but we’re hoping for a week considering she was introduced to high levels of power for years before this happened,” he explained. With a sigh, he brushed a hand over his braid and pulled it over one shoulder as he added, “The reason this concerns us is that… had this man gotten to two or more of you, your team would be out of commission until your powers were back on stable levels.”

“And then the last of us would be stuck doing desk work…” Pidge groaned. “Hallelujah that _that_ didn’t happen.”

They fell silent as the severity of that bearded man’s power, and with it coupled with Ko’s son’s powers… Lance couldn’t stop thinking about the threat, and now they all had the threat of losing their powers on top of it. 

“How is it possible that this bearded guy’s stayed under the radar until now?” Pidge demanded. “Shouldn’t you have some record of powered people who worked with Ko?”

“We would, but it seems he hasn’t been witnessed until now. The chances of this man working for Ko are incredibly high considering his approximate age. Either that, or he was with Ko’s son this whole time,” Kolivan said. “Since the events of last night, we’ve been working tirelessly to find records of Kogane’s possibly-illegitimate offsprings, but it seems as though the information we recovered several weeks ago is unable to be resolved. The corruption of the files is impossible to read with our current levels of technology. And even then, Ko was incredibly thorough with keeping himself and his relatives off the charts. I would be surprised if any son of his was registered.”

Lance felt himself growing cold, freezing over to avoid showing just how horrified he was. He hadn’t thought there would be anything useful to _him_ in those corrupted files Pidge found several weeks back.

“Well that’s bullshit. I guess sometimes we have to eat shit once in a while though,” they sighed, pursing their lips as they looked to Lance and then back at Kolivan. “So… Lance and I are still on for this new Mission Impossible?” 

“Not quite,” Kolivan said, and secretly Lance was reassured. “I think it’s fair to wait for Allura to recover. And to speed up the process I’ve provided a few of my remedies. It seems as though stealth will be in order to get rid of Ko’s roots once and for all, and to do that we require Allura. Until then, the strategies team will be working on possible options that will get you three on the offense for the next time Kogane attacks.”

“And what about all the power you guys had in that vault?” Lance asked, clutching his good arm around his stomach. “Is there… any way to get it back?”

“Afraid not. Which means we’ll have other Defenders cutting off trade routes like before. However, if Kogane knows what he’s doing, he’ll reroute everything, and keep the supply under wraps. Which means we’re essentially in the dark again if that happens to be the case,” Kolivan said.

Lance pinched at his shirt as he looked to the ground and said, “Sorry last night was such a disaster.”

He felt Kolivan’s steady, squarish hand rest on his good shoulder to give him a squeeze. “You three did wondrously. Any mission you three come out alive in, I call a success,” he said, and Pidge snorted off to the side. “I’m serious. I’m surprised you three have cheated death thus far. I have incredible appreciation for the Defenders in our quarter. And—just between the three of us—your team is my favorite.”

“We knew that already. Everyone knows that,” Pidge deadpanned. Despite the guilt, Lance found himself laughing as Kolivan shrugged.

They went back to Allura’s room where they found her sitting up in the bed wearing the pajama shirt and pants Pidge picked up from her place. Her face lit up a the sight of them—she was completely clear of wounds and blemishes, and so her skin glowed even around her mess of white hair. The room smelled strongly of weed, but really, it was just the distinct, long-term effects of Kolivan’s sage that they had all grown used to. Lance remembered the first time he walked into Kolivan’s office and left wondering if he was high or of Kolivan was—but it was just burnt sage.

“Hey guys!” she perked up, holding her hands out to them. Pidge took her hand and gave it an awkward shake before Lance ever got around to offering his good hand to her. “Jesus, Lance, what’s up with the sling?”

“Bullet to the shoulder. Lot of blood. So here I am,” he said with a smirk. She frowned at him and looked to Kolivan, as if to say, “Do something about this boy!”

“I’ve given him painkillers,” he said in response, and Pidge giggled. “And anyways, the doctor said your restoration levels should be back up in several days if all goes well. Make sure to drink tea instead of coffee—”

“Coffee isn’t that bad,” Pidge argued, but sucked in their breath when Kolivan scowled at them.

“You tell this to a girl who works at a _coffee shop_ ,” Allura laughed as Kolivan turned back to her. “But I prefer tea anyways so that shouldn’t be a problem. Anything else, doc?”

“That’s my only recommendation that I can give you without a medical certificate,” he replied.

Allura tipped her head back and smiled sleepily at them. “I love your medical advice, though. Your restoration powers are incomparable to mine.”

Kolivan scowled warningly at her, and both Lance and Pidge snickered to one another. Kolivan wasn’t one to brag about his powers, and the fact that they were a complete gift of nature. “We don’t discuss that. You know that,” he told Allura. “And besides, I need to get going. I don’t have time for lessons.”

“Oh, come on…” she whined, but Kolivan was already heading to the door.

“We’ll talk again when you’re fully healed, and the strategists have a plan for you three,” he told them before shutting the door behind him.

Allura pouted for a moment longer until she was sure Kolivan was long gone. Still, though, she frowned and pretended as though Kolivan’s impatience with her was something to be expected now. Lance found himself pitying her. As much as he loved Kolivan, it didn’t change the fact that as soon as Allura outgrew his mentorship, he dropped his efforts to draw out her gift and its dependance on power. 

Pidge whistled low and said, “Kolivan is the king of swerving.”

“He really is,” Lance murmured, and looked away as he sensed Allura glaring at him. “Whatever. We should probably leave soon. How do you feel, Allura?”

“Fine,” she said curtly, and pushed herself off the bed to stand. Lance half-expected her to collapse, but she was sturdy on her feet, and walked without hesitation to grab her shoes. “Could one of you get us an Uber?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got halfway into writing this whole fic and realized that... I turn a LOT of the characters into assholes. Like... compared to all the good-morals I'm used to promoting, this is, like... _unexpectedly ruthless_ of me. Probs leftover angst from Charmed tbh XD
> 
> So Shiro can take away peoples' powers. Isn't that something.
> 
> You can fight me over on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) :D


	4. latte art is the way to a person's heart

Keith ripped his demolished helmet off and chucked it with a scream. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the ground as he stormed through his loft and hissed, “ _This_ is what my father had to put up with? I nearly _had him—!_ ”

“The Blue Defender is pretty slippery, you have to admit,” Shiro commented with a laugh, and shut up the second Keith turned to him with a deadly sneer. “Ok. Not funny. And also, that was just the first time. They weren’t supposed to be on guard duty that night—I had no idea they were going to be there. If I had, we would have changed plans for another night.”

“ _They_ shouldn’t be the reason why we—We _can’t_ mend our schedules around theirs to avoid them,” Keith hissed. “We shouldn’t _be_ avoiding them at all. We got my father’s power supply, so we can get back on track. We’ll arrange it so that they’ll intersect one of our trucks and—”

“They’ll be out of commission for at _least_ a month,” he warned. “We don’t have to worry about them until the invisible girl’s power comes back.”

Keith didn’t want to admit that it was probably for the best. His impulses said that now was better than never—they couldn’t let these _Defenders_ linger around, threatening to be around every corner they make a transaction at. They had to be dealt with swiftly and promptly. 

Shiro kneaded his fingers into the back of his neck and twisted it to the side with a audible crack. “Yeah, well… let’s not discuss this now. I could _really_ go for a drink and pass out right about now.”

“Agreed,” Keith said, and followed Shiro to the kitchen where he perched himself on a stool and watched his friend pull out two glasses and several bottles of liquor to mix them both a drink. Keith was never into hard alcohol—and his lightweight issues might have contributed to it—so a bit of wine it was. In general, he was skinny, and always had been. His issues with gaining weight were originally what worried his pretty much nonexistent mother, and prompted her to step in during his middle school years in a private boarding school off in Pennsylvania. 

So maybe he forgot to eat once in a while, and the act of eating wasn’t entirely _appetizing_ , so to speak. And drinking on an empty stomach was never a good combination, especially for him, so Shiro slid over a small glass filled barely a quarter of the way up.

“Thanks,” he sighed.

“Yeah, well, you’ve barely got anything worthwhile here. What’s with all your unopened wine bottles?” Shiro criticized, plucking a few out of the cabinets with a scoff. “Unbelievable.”

“I was in _France_. What do you expect? I spent my twenty-first in Italy before going to Hong Kong—you can find some sake in there,” he commented with a huff. He distantly heard Shiro shudder out, “ _Bleh,_ ” in response. Keith relaxed his head on his forearms, the aching in his skull finally triggering a bout of tiredness. With a yawn, he said, “Two years. I can hardly believe I’m twenty-three.”

“I can hardly believe _I’m_ twenty-five,” Shiro laughed, combing his fingers through his beard. “Makes for a great disguise, huh? You see grey beard and think— _Wow_ , he must be _ancient_.”

Keith laughed into his arms and sat up straighter, still smiling as he took a sip of his wine. “Yeah, well, it looks good on you.”

“Thanks. Cheers to getting our fucking shit back together.” Shiro tipped his glass to Keith, and after a second, Keith raised his wine glass up to clink against his best friend’s.

They drank in silence as Keith considered, yet again, how long it’d been since he saw Shiro. They went to the same private school back in the day, all the way through high school. Shiro had always been two grades above him, though, and never failed to accommodate for that fact. Keith remembered all the times Shiro spent his study halls sneaking to the freshmen wing to keep Keith company. 

Even back then, Keith couldn’t exactly make friends considering his icy exterior. But… traveling seemed to help with that. He hoped. 

When he finished his glass, he set it in the sink and said, “I’m gonna sleep. You can stay the night if you want.” 

Shiro thanked him as he meandered out of the kitchen, and past his shattered helmet. He could barely stand to look at it without feeling like a failure. His father, while incapable of fighting the Defenders himself, would still have been disappointed to see that Keith sustained damage from one of them.

Keith walked up the stairs of his loft that overlooked the kitchen area where Shiro put away his dishes and the bottles. Keith glanced down at him from over the railing before turning to change for bed. The mattress was so tempting, though, and he spared the chance to tip over onto it and just lay there with his legs half-off the mattress and—

  


  


—It was morning.

Keith shimmied himself up on the bed more and felt his legs tingle with numbness where they dangled off the edge of the bed all night. With a groan, he turned himself onto his back and sniffed as he stared at the ceiling and rubbed a hand over his face. He felt gross and oily, and like a failure once more. He could remember the sensation of his angry tears pooling on his eyelashes when he threw the helmet at the wall. 

He’d need to get that repaired. He wondered if it _could_ be repaired.

He heaved himself up into a sitting position, and stared across to the angled wall on the other side of the apartment that jutted out over the kitchen. He did that for a good five minutes before he remembered that today was a new day, and a new day meant another chance to go to Alterra. The motivation of that sent him up to his feet and around to the bathroom where he showered—however short and haphazardly—and changed into something more suitable. 

The closet mirror reflected back his gnarled, drying hair, and the jeans he _knew_ made his ass look great. He had them tailor made a while back, and since he only ever managed to _lose_ weight and not gain it, they still fit okay. 

Reflexively, he let his hands fall to his stomach and waited for it to groan in aggravation, as it always seemed to do in its own weak manner. Now that he was thinking about it, his feet found the stairs, which opened up to the foyer and the kitchen, where he then grabbed a banana out on the counter that was threatening to brown over. Incapable of opening bananas by himself, he looked to Shiro, who was passed out on the couch in the living room.

It was probably a dick move, but Keith was desperate.

He wandered over to Shiro and crouched beside him. He watched as his friend’s breath seemed to whistle past his beard before he nudged him on the shoulder several times to wake him up. 

“Hm—? What is it?” Shiro asked.

“I need you to open this banana for me,” Keith said, holding it out.

“You piece of shit. Just get a knife or something if you can’t do it yourself,” he whined, but took it anyways. 

“It makes me nervous,” he confessed, watching as Shiro dug his nail into the skin and snapped the neck of it. “Thank you. You can go back to sleep now—I’m just gonna head out.”

“Well that was… pointless…” Shiro moaned as he closed his eyes again and twisted onto his other side with his face pressed to the couch cushions. 

Keith snickered as he peeled the banana down, grabbed his keys and phone from the kitchen counter, and left out the door.

At around the same time Keith left, Lance was already up—for several hours now—sitting at Kolivan’s office after a healing session that was, for the most part, successful. Kolivan’s painkillers did _wonders_ —literal wonders. Lance was almost certain he hallucinated last night before going to sleep—and on top of that, the bruising on his eye was now gone. As for the shoulder…

“It’ll take some time,” Kolivan told Lance, “and several sessions. The healing process isn’t meant to be sped up. We should allow your body to aid in the recovery because you’re still a healthy, functioning human being. There’s no need to play god.”

“But I _work_ today. How am I gonna work with one arm?” Lance whined, and received a dull stare in response. “Fine. One-Arm Lance it is.” It didn’t stop him from thinking: _If Allura was better, she’d have my arm healed in an hour or two_.

Kolivan seemed to notice his impatience was due to that. “I don’t approve of Allura’s hastiness. I find it impulsive and instinctual. Not all of our instincts aid are correct, and while I know the three of you _function_ on instincts… that alone cannot protect you.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll take it slow,” Lance reassured him and stood up to leave. “I appreciate you getting rid of the black eye now. It’s easier to come up with excuses that don’t involve fighting. I’m sure all my other coworkers assume I’m a delinquent.”

“You are not a delinquent. They are wrong,” Kolivan said pointedly.

Lance slapped his knee and cackled. “Man, Avonaco, you really kill me.”

Kolivan scowled at him. “Don’t use my first name. We may be close, but not _that_ close.”

Lance left the rep’s office still laughing to himself and brushing tears out of his eyes. Kolivan never failed to cheer him up, especially after such a rough night. As he stood in the elevator waiting for it to drop, he brushed his smile off his face and went to retrieve his phone. Several Snapchats from the one and only Pidge.

They were videos and went in a sequence of Pidge screaming through the house as a hurricane of gray fur chased after them down the hallway. “ _I’m under attack! Help—_ ” The audio cut out because they screamed as the camera turned just as Seafoam Green launched herself onto the nearest piece of furniture and—

The next video was of Pidge sitting behind the sofa—the only reason Lance knew that was because he once sat back there himself. They had a terrified look on their face as they panned the camera up to where Seafoam sat on the back of the couch, tail flicking furiously like a grandfather clock in a timewarp. “I’m not gonna survive,” Pidge whispered into the camera, zooming in on their face before the feed cut out.

Lance laughed as he exited the stone building in downtown Milwaukee, with its miraculous columns and unnecessary lion sculptures. He headed south, to the Third Ward, and replayed the videos once more before it clocked out. By that point, he could see the stoplights approaching near the bridge, and hurried his pace so he could make it on time to work. It seemed as though he was always toeing the line of being late. 

By the time Lance was passing the Public Market, Keith’s driver pulled around the corner of Alterra in search of a parking spot. Keith walked from the parking lot after passing some change to the driver to pay for the spot. There was a restaurant on the corner, and as he walked between the tables on the sidewalk, his stomach groaned for more than just fruit. 

He turned the corner and headed down to where Alterra’s seating merged with the garage doors made of windows that exposed the bar stools, and the countertop inside where students gathered on their laptops, and families gathered outside eating breakfast together on the sidewalk. Keith was almost too distracted by it to miss the fact that Lance was walking towards him, and was about to duck into the alley beside the coffee shop.

He was quick to notice the sling his arm was in.

“Lance?” Keith called out, hurrying down the sidewalk to catch up with him. 

The barista perked up at the sound of his name, and turned to beam at Keith. “Hey! Back again, I see. I seriously doubt our coffee’s better than anything you had in France, not gonna lie, but I appreciate it.”

“You’d be surprised,” Keith hummed, frowning as he pointed out the dilemma. “What… happened to your arm? Are you okay?”

“Oh! This? Yeah, I’m fine. I just… sprained my elbow.”

“You sprained your elbow,” Keith deadpanned. Couldn’t say he’d ever heard of that one before. As he returned his eyes to Lance’s, he found them tinged red from lack of sleep, and on top of it, he wasn’t wearing his septum piercing that day.

“Yeah! Yeah, I was walking up the steps to my apartment and I was carrying groceries and I fell backwards and—at least I didn’t hit my head! So I count that as a win. I gotta go clock in, though, so I’ll talk to you later,” he said, waving to Keith with his good arm as he headed down the alley to the back door.

Keith stood there for a moment staring after Lance before ultimately turning away more disturbed than before. At least worrying about Lance suddenly made it easier for him to forget about the failure of last night. How could someone just brush off a sling like that? Especially when Lance had to _work_ on top of it. He was certain the last thing Lance wanted to do was work a seven hour shift at a coffee shop with one arm. 

It didn’t help that he didn’t have anyone to blame—he was _amazing_ at playing the blame-game as it was. Already he was feeling sorry for Lance. Someone should have been there to carry the groceries for him. Why was he carrying that much to begin with? Did he not go grocery shopping often enough? Well… Keith was seriously lacking in that department as well, so he could relate on those grounds… But that still didn’t change the fact that Lance probably had a roommate, right? He was college-age, which meant that he probably couldn’t afford to live in his own place. So why hadn’t his roommate come out to help him?

“Are you all right, sir?” one of his guards asked, startling him out of his reveries.

“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Where will you be?”

“There’s an empty table across the street. You’ll find me there if you need anything,” his guard replied, pointing across the way to a collection of seating outside the Public Market. 

Keith nodded, and sent the guard off so he could get around to actually _entering_ Alterra. By the time he did, Lance was at the counter, smirking at Keith. “So who was that big muscly guy? Kinda cute if you ask me.”

_Remind me not to bring that guard with me next time_ , Keith thought bitterly as he forced a laugh.

“It’s just—” he started, preparing to lie, but what was the point? There were plenty of people out there who had guards for this-or-that reason. At least… he _thought_ there were… “He’s my guard, actually.”

“You’re kidding,” Lance snorted, and when he faced Keith’s stoic expression again, his humor turned into startled amazement. “Wait, you’re serious. Holy shit, why do you have guards—wait, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. Sorry. God, that was insincere of me—”

“It’s fine,” Keith laughed. 

“And you were in _France_. You’ve probably been _everywhere_.” 

“Not _everywhere_ ,” he sighed. “I still haven’t gone to South America, which is disappointing.”

“Incredibly disappointing,” Lance agreed, schooling his expression to nod morosely before breaking into a grin again. “So what’ll it be?” 

“Just a macchiato is fine. For here.”

Keith was already getting out the change when Lance said, “You… know it’s not the Starbucks macchiato, right?”

He rolled his eyes and laughed, “ _Yes_ , I am aware. I’m exhausted today and could really go for it.”

“Rough night too?” Lance said as he punched in the order.

“ _Incredibly_ so.”

  


  


Hunk didn’t come in that day, and Lance was seriously not in the mood for a no-Hunk-kind-of-day. How could anyone go a day without seeing that man’s beautiful face? And if Lance was in better health, he’d go to the gym—not to break the equipment, but to see if Hunk was working there again. Honestly, Lance had a problem if he was seriously considering paying Hunk to be his personal trainer when he didn’t even need one. Hunk would probably try to muscle off against him, and Lance would cave and pretend to be the weakest son of a bitch in that gym just to see the look of pride on Hunk’s face after winning against him.

Lance sighed as Allura clocked in later that day near the middle of his shift. “You okay?”

“I don’t get why _I_ had to sustain a bullet to the shoulder, and you just got your powers suspended,” Lance whined from behind the espresso bar, flopping forward on the counter as Allura patted him gently on the head. “Kolivan won’t speedy-heal me.”

“He hates speedy-healing.”

“I _know_. But I still wish he’d _do it_ ,” he complained. Their coworker in the kitchen came up then, and Lance ceased conversation about it. Not everyone at Alterra happened to be a Defender. “Seafoam’s been terrorizing Pidge all morning.”

“They’ve been sending me pictures and videos,” Allura agreed. “I can’t imagine why that cat is so angry when she has two wonderful owners.”

“ _Thank you_. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Seafoam, but she doesn’t listen,” Lance whined. “And last night she tried to sleep on my arm and I was just not having it.”

“Well. At that point you just have to kick her out of the room. You can’t let a feline control you like that,” Allura told him.

The door chimed open, and just as Lance was about to book it to the cash register, Allura held him back. “I’ll take this one. You take a break or something. Make yourself a drink.”

Lance scowled at her, and faked a smile before realizing that the customer wasn’t even coming towards them. Lance’ attention zoomed in on the fact that this leather-wearing guy had a greying beard and—

Wait. 

When he turned around, his flawless complexion rivaled that of Hunk’s soft, supple skin. His hair was jet black and spiked up with hair gel and _mm_. Lance was all about that biker look he had going on. He was probably only twenty-five. He couldn’t be the man who took away Allura’s powers.

Lance forced himself to calm down, and looked to Allura to see if she noticed the beard, too. She looked at him and shrugged, whispering, “The guy had to be, like, fifty years old. Kolivan _did_ say that he probably worked for Ko. Ko was in his fifties when he died.”

Lance shrugged back at her before looking and seeing Keith stand up and put on that adorable smile that showed all his teeth. He and the man hugged, and Lance found his eyebrows raising at the thought that popped into his head: _It’s not fair that two hot guys are allowed to be friends. Save some for the rest of us_.

But then it was promptly followed by: _Stop assuming two hot guys are friends. They’re probably dating. Just two guys being dudes—_

_Still not fair_.

Keith followed the guy up to the counter where Allura put on a dazzling smile. Lance was certain their coworker thought the worst of them by this point—they’d been checking out the new customer since he set foot in the building.

As Allura greeted the guy, Keith meandered over to where Lance was hiding behind the espresso machine. “Having fun?” Lance asked, amused by Keith’s giddy smile.

“ _Immensely_ ,” he answered with a laugh, glancing over at where Allura dialed up her flirtation like Lance had never seen. Even the time Allura took him out clubbing, he hadn’t seen such a sight. At the club, she blatantly flaunted it, but now… it was subtle and endearing and her sweet-talk had the man all flustered. 

Which reassured Lance that he was totally, and definitely, straight.

“Who’s your friend?” Lance asked, turning back to Keith.

“My cousin. I haven’t seen him in a while and I told him about Alterra,” he explained just before Allura asked, “—Can I get your name for the order?”

“Shiro,” the man replied.

“You never asked for my name when you took my order,” Keith said to Lance, who laughed and shook his head.

“We don’t usually take people’s names. That’s totally a Starbucks thing,” he giggled, and Keith laughed with him. “Allura has a thing for guys who have beards.”

“Yeah, well, I have a thing for guys who wear septum piercings, and I have no clue where your’s went,” he replied, and Lance squeaked, covering his nose. He was surprised by how flustered he got by the statement, and ignored the red that blossomed in his cheeks as Keith walked away laughing, “Bye Lance. I’ll see you around.”

Lance was still recovering by the time Shiro walked away from the register, and Allura bolted towards him with an empty cup in her hand, squeaking, “Did you see him? Do you think I was too forward? I’ve never flirted with customers before so I don’t know how I did.”

“You literally _killed_ him. He’s deceased, he needs to be revived by mouth-to-mouth _ASAP_ ,” Lance laughed, hand still over his mouth as Allura ducked behind the espresso machine to do her little victory dance before she abruptly straightened up and returned to normal.

She glowered at Lance, and then glowered at their coworker in the kitchen. “Neither of you saw that. Coran would have a fit if he saw that.” Lance snorted as their coworker saluted Allura sarcastically from across the way, and he couldn’t ignore how Allura smiled giddily to herself as she made Shiro’s latte and topped the espresso and milk with foam in the shape of a heart. “Sometimes latte art is the way into a person’s heart,” she told Lance with a stern look. He was still cackling when Shiro came to pick up the drink and carry it over to Keith’s table, ears pink and all.

Allura’s flirting was so successful that before Keith and Shiro left, Shiro came over to the counter and slipped the dirty dish onto the counter. “Tell Allura I say thanks,” he said to Lance before he left, and left Lance with a message at the bottom of the cup in the form of a phone number.

  


  


When Lance showed up at the apartment, he stuttered to a halt outside their door. Theirs was on the first floor, mirrored by the one other apartment on that floor, and at the base of the staircase leading up into the ancient building. Really, this was the sort of apartment college students were supposed to be occupying, but they really couldn’t afford anything more than this shitty, painted-over, brick apartment falling apart because of the ivy on the walls. 

He stopped to look down at Pidge, who sat on the floor with their back to the door. They peered up at him tiredly and said, struggling to find the words, “I… left the apartment… because Green _bullied me into it_. And now… the door’s jammed… and I can’t open it.”

Lance sighed and asked, “How long ago did Seafoam do that?”

“… An hour ago.”

He sighed again, and ushered them away from the door so he could pry it open with a harsh jerk, and then pushed his shoulder against it to wrench it open. Pidge was too exhausted to thank him, and just wandered in after him, only for them both to skid to a stop in the face of the fluffy grey threat staring at them with her deadly green eyes. Lance cringed and made the mistake of looking at Pidge.

Seafoam took the opportunity to dart at them. 

Pidge screamed and they both scrambled to get out of the way, which really, was the last thing they should have done. It was complete chaos. Pidge lunged at Lance, and he was forced to lift them up with one arm so he could skitter away and keep his eyes on Seafoam as she maneuvered like a snake out the door, and up the stairs of the apartment building.

Lance yelped and dropped Pidge from his arm so he could sling them over his good shoulder, and squeeze through the door and chase Seafoam up the stairs. The entire time, Pidge was screaming, “ _Don’t sacrifice me!_ I have enough cat scratches as it is!”

“We are going to tame this beast if it’s the last thing we do!” Lance hollered as he jumped the stairs two at a time and braced himself for impact when they caught Seafoam puffed up on the third floor, letting out a horrific-sounding yowl that had Pidge near-tears. 

“Don’t do it! It’s not worth it!” Pidge cried out as Lance lowered them to the ground, eyes focused solely on the beast snarling at them.

“We have no choice,” Lance insisted in cautious undertones. He lowered himself closer to the ground as Seafoam twitched her tail like she was practicing her bat swings. “The beast has to be vanquished. On the count of three… I’m going to grab her.”

“Lance no—”

“One—”

“Don’t do it!”

“Two—”

“ _Lance!_ ”

“ _THREE!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seafoam no.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	5. if flirtation was a power lance wouldn't have it

“So… suffice to say Seafoam Green’s new name is Beast…” Lance said as Hunk tenderly reached for the scratch over Lance’s upper lip, and thought twice about it. “But I got her back into the apartment… and… we’ve contained her in the bathroom.”

“Then where do you go to the bathroom?”

“… The neighbor’s apartment…”

“Oh, Lance…” Hunk tsked, pouting as Lance sighed against the countertop. He was at the flower shop in the Public Market that smelled fresh like open air, and was the first thing customers saw when wandering into the marketplace. “I’m sure there’s better ways to tame disgruntled cats.”

“Disgruntled is an understatement,” Lance sighed. “Pidge calls her Demon-Cat, which… is a tempting name… but I really like Beast because then we can claim her full name is Beast Boy from _Teen Titans_.”

“But then that suggests she’s a boy. Do you really want her gender confused?”

“Of course. That’s what I live for,” Lance said.

Hunk shrugged helplessly, given up to Lance’s incredibly convincing conversational skills. Lance basked in the brief moment of silence where they watched one another from across the countertop, and Lance hid his laughter behind his sly grin. 

At last, Hunk said, “You’re an interesting character, Lance. How’s Pidge?”

Lance was _almost_ too smitten by Hunk’s statement to answer the question. “They’re fine. The classes they’re taking at UWM seem pretty tough, so a lot of their time is spent studying, and, like… going to classes and stuff. But it’s not like Pidge is _going_ to college at all. It’s just a class here and there on occasion.”

“I sort of wish I would have finished school,” Hunk confessed. “But I couldn’t get into any of the PT programs I wanted to. It’s tough. I originally wanted to move to Minnesota for their PT school, but… it didn’t work out.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a physical therapist,” he said, but he had to admit that he wasn’t surprised at all. “That’s a lot of schooling.”

“It is. But I could have worked for professional sport leagues or for a university football team… It would have been great but it just didn’t happen. My grades weren’t good enough,” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” Lance murmured, guilty that he brought up the subject.

They flittered away from one another for a moment so Hunk could answer the questions of a customer who looked like the call-the-manager-suburban-mom-gossiping-at-barbecues type. Lance waited off to the side and inspected some of the bouquets Hunk just put together from the buckets of stems awaiting their own arrangements. He took the opportunity to make sure that he looked okay and that his hair was in place because it tended to go haywire the second he set foot outside of the apartment. And since he was at it, he snapped a selfie and sent it to Pidge with the caption _Lookin cute for the bae_.

“So yeah, no PT school for me,” Hunk continued, startling Lance into hiding the evidence in his pocket. “Who was that picture to?” he asked, soft, cheeky smile and all.

“Nothing! No one! I mean, just Pidge,” he stammered out, and Hunk chuckled a little. “Ugly selfies. You know, the usual.”

“Oh, you could never take an ugly selfie,” Hunk laughed, and Lance was so flustered that the internal voice in his head started blaring a siren that chanted, _KISS THAT BOY. KISS THAT BOY_. “And anyways, I love Milwaukee! I don’t know why everyone’s so down on it, you know? Though, that whole situation with that ice box serial killer on the East Side… and then there was Ko…

“You know one time I was almost attacked for intercepting a drug exchange?” Hunk said, and Lance snorted and if he’d been drinking anything, he surely would have choked on it. Mainly because he _remembered every second of it_.

But he humored Hunk. “Seriously? What happened?”

“A Defender saved me! I was incredible! It was like a scene from a movie and it lasted probably five minutes, maybe even less. One second these guys started yelling at me, asking what I was doing there, who sent me, and then in the next moment the… that one Defender—the one who was all over the news lately? I met him! And the whole scenario is a bit fuzzy now. It’s probably been a few months since that happened, and I probably blacked it all out because I was so frazzled.

“I always tell that story to my friends at the nursing home and embellish it a lot because it’s not nearly as exciting as it really felt like at the time,” he explained, and Lance was starstruck and thrilled by this news. He expected Hunk to flaunt around the story the day after the event, but when Lance had cautiously pried the following day at Alterra, Hunk had said, “Oh, nothing much. Watched Netflix for a few hours, though! So that’s exciting.”

“I’m surprised you never mentioned it,” Lance said. “I mean, you _met_ the _Blue Defender_! What was he like?”

“Oh, you know. The usual Defender personality—do-gooder, out-to-save-the-world kind of attitude. He didn’t stay and chat for long, though. I think his exact words were… ‘Are you okay? Would you like me to walk you home?’ Or maybe it was, ‘You want me to walk you home?’ So I don’t know. Sounds like a nice guy, I guess?”

 _Sounds like a nice guy, I guess_.

That phrase would be ingrained in his skull for the rest of his life.

“I’m glad people like that are Defenders, though. At least they aren’t _all_ cocky, self-centered bastards who’re out for the glory, you know?” Hunk said. 

“So… you like the Defenders?”

“Well, _duh_. And after that? All my childhood dreams came true.”

A few customers walked into the market and were drawn by the aroma of Hunk’s roses and peonies. Lance left then so Hunk could get back to work—he bothered the beautiful man far longer than he intended. But he couldn’t help but pick Hunk’s brain about his thoughts on Defenders, if only for his own selfish reasons. He hadn’t considered that he’d ever have to swoop in and save Hunk again—that one time was just pure coincidence considering all the shit he and his team had to go through back in those days. 

That night he saved Hunk was one of many where he and his team were grasping for straws under the supervision of the strategists in Kolivan’s department. They spent night after night tracking exchange points Ko’s distributors met customers at. Lance just happened to be staked out at one of the points when he recognized Hunk walking along the cusp of the East Side in a neighborhood he really _shouldn’t_ have been in. Instincts kicked in.

So perhaps Kolivan was right about Lance’s impulses.

Lance suddenly found himself wondering why Hunk would ever find himself on that side of town. As he considered it, he decided to walk down by the river boardwalk when Keith happened to be leaving the Public Market, _seething_ as he passed Hunk’s flower stand. 

_So_ that’s _where he works_ , Keith thought as he replayed Lance’s goodbye, “See ya around, Hunk!” as he strolled out the front door of the Public Market. He found it hard to believe that anyone’s name could be Hunk, but he forced himself to consider it rather than the _other_ implications of the name.

Against better judgement, Keith followed Lance across the street to the expanse of a parking lot directly before the boardwalk. 

His apartment wasn’t far from there—in fact, he had a first floor loft with a patio. Shiro had been so nervous about Keith buying it considering how easy it would be for someone to just slip over the railing of his patio and burst through the back door. However, it made for nice scenery for his guards to look at, and his security system was implemented now, which meant his men had eyes in and outside of his apartment when he allowed it.

He followed Lance down the boardwalk until he was able to gather the courage to jog up and call out, “Lance! I thought I recognized you.”

The man jolted as if shocked, and turned on Keith with a sigh of relief. “You _scared me_. You sound like someone else I know,” Lance said.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked with a smirk, waltzing up beside him to lean up against the railing. As Lance shrugged, he said, “What are you doing today? Do you work?”

“No, I have the day off because… my arm and all that,” he said, gesturing to the sling. “Allura’s kind of… the boss when the boss isn’t there, and she was annoyed that it kept getting in the way.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Keith hummed. “Sucks that you can’t work.”

“Yeah, so… I was visiting a friend and now I’m here! I don’t usually see the riverwalk in daylight anyways,” Lance confessed, and plucked nervously at his piercing before settling his hands on the strap of his bag. “What are… What’re you doing out here?”

“No reason. Just… familiarizing myself with the city I guess,” Keith said as he started walking. Lance, by default, started walking alongside him. 

They were both quiet until Lance laughed nervously and admitted, “I don’t _usually_ hang out with customers.”

“I’m not a customer right now,” Keith argued. “And you aren’t working today. So we’re whatever you want us to be.”

Every now and then words just flew out of his mouth—and whether or not it was for the better or worse was up for debate, and also the circumstances. Keith was pleasantly surprised by the reaction he got, and it showed itself in Lance uttering a small squeak and covering his nose like he had the other day Keith complimented his septum piercing. He found the action incredibly cute, and hoped that it was a testament to his affections being mutual.

Lance didn’t respond otherwise, though, and left Keith to mull in his own amusement. 

They approached his apartment where he recognized several of his men sitting out on his patio playing cards. Keith veered towards them, and Lance let out a nervous squeak, about to protest as Keith started unbolting the patio door. “I don’t think— _Keith!_ Trespassing!”

The guys on the patio chuckled a little, pausing their game to watch Keith walk through and gesture Lance up. “This is my apartment—I don’t think that counts as trespassing,” he said, and beamed as Lance turned red with embarrassment, and kept his hand covering his mouth a little. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

“I—I really don’t think…” Lance started, looking at the guys who were now watching the show in obvious amusement. 

“Lance, c’mon. Have you ever been in one of these apartments before?” Keith asked, and gestured encouraging as Lance tentatively reached the first step.

Lance was so incredibly nervous. He _swore_ those guys were just entertaining them, and Keith was one helluva liar. But either way, Keith’s key unlocked the back door, and he walked in like he owned the place, so Lance was forced to assume that perhaps he actually did.

Keith was right—Lance never _once_ thought he’d set foot in a riverside apartment. The concept of actually _owning one_ was just a frivolous fantasy that he and Pidge never bothered to play around with. Keith’s apartment fulfilled all those fantasies he had of one day standing in an _actual_ , lived-in apartment instead of some staged loft for visitors to pass through. The furniture was all modern to fit in with the geometric structure of everything, and how the wall split to reveal the television—and how all the shades were rigged up to a button Keith pressed where they would all open and close under his one command. 

Lance marveled at it and threw up his arm, “So cool!”

“You try it,” Keith said, and leant against the wall as Lance pressed and pressed the buttons and opened up the windows above their heads. They went to the bathroom where the shower could fit a motorcycle. There was a tub nestled into a platform at around waist-height, and Lance leant into it excitedly, and threatened to fall in had Keith not held him back. 

“There’s a pool in the building, and a gym, and there’s a gaming room on the top floor where the penthouses are,” Keith explained. 

“Do y’all have that nifty rooftop patio?” Lance asked, and as Keith nodded, he gasped, “Can we go up there!”

“Sure—you can leave your bag here,” Keith said, guiding Lance out of the bathroom and to the kitchen where he slung his bag and jacket over a stool.

Keith led the way out the front door and locked it behind him. Lance was so jittery with excitement that he was practically bouncing on his feet as Keith walked him to the elevator. As they were closed into such confined quarters, Lance figured silence was just a disaster waiting to happen. He couldn’t deny how thrilled he was in general—he hadn’t expected to find Keith on the boardwalk, or even that Keith _lived_ on the boardwalk. It was such a pleasant surprise that it didn’t occur to him what that all meant. 

It meant that Keith just showed him around his apartment without even batting an eye. It meant that Keith _trusted him_ as more than just the guy who gets his coffee in the afternoons. It meant that Lance had this man in the palm of his hand to do with as he pleased. Lance quite liked that realization.

He liked it a _lot_ more than he should have.

 _If only I could flirt like Allura_ , he sighed, thinking about how Shiro was complete and total putty in her hands the second he walked up to the cash register. 

“So… how long have you been living here?” Lance asked, leaning against the bar in the elevator and hoping he radiated _some_ semblance of “sexy”, whatever that word meant.

“Almost two weeks now. Shiro helped me out and looked around for apartments while I was packing up everything in France.”

“So do you speak French?”

“Enough to get by,” he confessed with a laugh, and his smile could kill a man. Lance felt himself growing numb as he remembered Hunk. _Damn_ , he cursed himself, _why’d you have to go and think about him_ now _?_

Thankfully, though, Keith didn’t seem to noticed Lance and how he faltered to keep up the conversation. “I actually left home when I was seventeen. I moved to Italy—my mother was Italian so in high school I attempted to learn the language. Emphasis on _attempt_. Everyone I ran into thought I was a tourist for the entire year I lived there. And then when I moved, I lived in Germany with a friend…”

“Whoa, wait—you can’t just spring this on me,” Lance laughed. “You have to show me pictures and evidence and tell me all about what it was like. I mean, do you see me floating around Europe? No!”

Keith laughed, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone. “I have _some_ pictures. But they aren’t really of the people, mostly scenery.”

“That’s the kind of shit I like. People go traveling and they just take selfies. Like, I can see your face every fucking day. Show me where you _were_!” Lance cried out just as the elevator dinged at the top floor, and opened up to a room full of windows and couches, and hanging plants strung up from the ceiling.

The two of them floated off into their own worlds while Keith recalled old pictures, and Lance hurried around the game room before breaking out onto the rooftop. Keith hurried after him, and together the two of them listened to whatever song was playing on the speakers, and let their sighs catch on the wind over the Milwaukee River, and the skyline to the north.

Lance could get used to this view.

Keith brought him back to Earth and back into his head with pictures of his first stay in Italy. “I _wish_ I could have lived in Venice, but I’m not that extravagant.”

“Why don’t you say that again to your _loft_ on the _Milwaukee River_ ,” Lance laughed, plucking up the phone and wandering over to one of the outdoor chairs. He dropped onto the cushion and preened under Keith’s attention as he lowered himself beside Lance. It wasn’t every day Lance met possible-millionaires. And it _certainly_ wasn’t everyday he toured their apartments and sat _this close to them_ on the rooftop of the complex.

As Lance scrolled through nearly a thousand images that afternoon, Keith was there to tell him where they were taken, the stories behind them, and what the fuck he was doing there anyways. Lance was so spellbound by Keith’s adventures that he found himself suddenly paling in comparison. Lance wasn’t a _world traveler_ by any means. He hadn’t spent his young adult years sitting in remote, luxurious bathhouses in Japan. He hadn’t spent his twenty-first in a vineyard in northern Italy (he actually spent it in the basement of Allura’s mom’s house because he happened to be on vacation there at the time). 

Lance sighed dreamily as he pictured himself in France, in the apartment Keith was showing him now. He wished he could have seen the sunrise come through the curtains, and meet the neighbors Keith claimed to still be on good terms with. 

“With my background in Italian, I was… surprisingly far better with French than I anticipated,” Keith explained. “I was only ever interested in languages when I was in high school, so I taught myself French while I was in Hong Kong, and my neighbor in France—she was this cute elderly woman—helped me out when I first moved in because the landlord didn’t speak anything other than French and he had a heavy accent that I just couldn’t follow. My neighbor spoke English, but she refused to speak to me in anything other than French so I could learn how to listen better and eventually speak the dialect better. I still talk with her almost daily.”

“That’s really sweet,” Lance cooed. “What’s her name?”

“Miss Flerona. She used to live in New York when she was younger, and then her father got a job in France so her whole family moved there,” he explained. “She just never moved back I guess.”

“I wonder if she’d visit you.”

“If I asked, maybe. And also paid for her flight,” Keith said, and Lance smiled softly. With a sigh, he tipped his head back and continued, “But I don’t want you to get the impression that I toss around my inheritance. I _do_ work, and I worked while I was overseas, but…”

“I wouldn’t assume you did,” Lance insisted, though he had to admit—travels like that _were_ extravagant, and definitely had a rich-kid kind of vibe to them. “I think anyone who was well-off should spend at least a _portion_ of their life traveling. I know I would.”

Keith rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and straightened up with a sigh to look over at Lance again. Lance passed him the phone—it was at ten percent anyways. They relaxed in silence, feeling the heat of the sun on their skin. Lance soaked it all in, and blissed out for a moment just sitting there with his eyes closed. He could get used to this. 

As Lance lounged peacefully, Keith studied his profile, and the gentle slope of his neck and how it accentuated his Adam’s apple. Keith had never felt so inclined to do _anything_. He never felt the need to “make the first move,” or to spent an entire afternoon explaining his travels to _anyone_. Sure, he told Shiro all about them—Shiro was practically _experiencing them_ at the same time Keith was due to how often they talked while he was off away from Wisconsin.

But now… he thought about watching Lance talk and flirt with Hunk at the flower stand, and he never felt so inclined to take a man out to dinner before in his _life_. 

And also, you know… punch Hunk in the face…

“Hey Lance,” Keith murmured, and Lance hummed in response. “This may be a bit forward, but… I would really like to take you out on a date.”

Instantly Lance perked up, and Keith was surprised by how startled Lance looked. It was almost as if he didn’t expect it, which Keith found ridiculous. He just showed Lance his apartment—though, he supposed no one really _knew_ that he didn’t often let people into his apartment, and there was no reason for Lance to know that either. 

“I—um, why?” Lance blurted out, and instantly cringed and shook his head. “Wait—sorry, that was. I mean. Why would you want to take _me_ out on a _date?_ ”

“You don’t have to say yes—” _But please do_ “—but I really, _really_ like you, Lance. And I mean, we don’t really know each other, and I guess that’s why I’d like to treat you to dinner. You can tell me about yourself.”

Lance was a flustered, pink mess, and Keith found it so exhaustingly adorable that he nearly had to take a break to fan himself. Lance tucked his hands between his knees and shrugged his shoulder up to his ear. “I mean… _yeah_ , I’d love to go out with you sometime. When… were you thinking?”

“This weekend? Do you work on Saturday?” Keith asked, and Lance shook his head.

“I don’t really work weekends unless they absolutely need me,” he confessed, and was yet again flustered at the sight of Keith smiling at him. It sent an uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant, jolt through his stomach that clutched at his chest, and thumped in time with his heart. It was different from the excitement, the thrill, that Hunk gave him—this felt…

Soft. And calm. And something… stable.

“Where do you live? So I can pick you up?” Keith asked.

“Oh—No, no. I’ll be around Third Ward so I’ll just stop by here. What time?” Lance said, and as they set up a time, Lance wondered just how real a relationship with Keith could feel. Even as he grabbed his jacket and bag on his way out of Keith’s apartment through the patio door, it was like a spell vanished, and that _no_ , this was all definitely a dream. He couldn’t possibly have just been asked on a date like that. This was the quiet, brooding Keith he saw at Alterra—how was it possible that this man’s life was so extravagant while he was so totally _not_?

Whatever the case, Lance practically waddled back down the riverwalk in a dizzy haze. He was never just _asked out on dates_. He was always the one to initiate it, and always the one to break it off. _There’s a first time for everything_ , the voice in his head said, and it satisfied him for the time it took to walk home from the Third Ward.

  


  


It was all one very large coincidence that Lance left late enough to intercept Hunk that evening, and that they split off from each other on their usual routes just as Keith was leaving in his slick black vehicle to go to Shiro’s apartment. He stopped the driver and ordered him to follow Hunk.

Spending all day with Lance just cemented his need to punch Hunk in the face.

“I need to find out where he lives,” Keith told the driver, climbing up to the front passenger’s seat. Shiro now forgotten—he could get scolded later, consequences be damned—Keith trained his eyes on Hunk and, when traffic didn’t permit it, he jumped out at the corner of the street, which sent his guard into a tizzy.

He went to the trunk of the car and hoisted out his repaired helmet and slammed the trunk shut. His guard was out of the car demanding, “Sir, I really don’t think you should be doing this. We still have two hours until sunset.”

“I don’t fucking care. There’s alleyways everywhere,” Keith hissed, thinking, _I could see it on Lance’s face—he’s never gonna get over this guy unless I take care of him—_

“I don’t think Shirogane would agree with this, sir—” 

Keith drew up his guard’s shadow, and yanked him back into the brick of the building nearest them. The shadow was faint, but still managed to claw up around the man’s neck as Keith bit out, “I don’t _fucking_ care what Shiro agrees with. Don’t get in my way.”

He released the guard, and it sent the man staggering against the wall, gripping at his throat as Keith hurried down the sidewalk after Hunk.

The man was heading up towards Lake Drive, and before he could completely escape Keith’s grasp, he managed to cross the street and fall directly in the path of heavy shadows around brick buildings and stone monuments. Keith hurried across the street after him, his eagerness mounting just as Hunk’s footsteps brought him in front of the gaping entrance of an alleyway.

Keith twisted his helmet around and secured it on his head in the time it took for Hunk’s shadow to pool like a gapping hole beneath him. The shade accumulated around them until it sucked into the alleyway, blanketing them from the eyes of traffic, and acting like nothing more than a curtain drawing to a close over a stage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll find me currently suffering over applying for jobs D: Wish me luck because my hopes are very very low. If I was a pokémon I'd already be at the lil poké hospital 'cause my HP (hope power) is so low.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers)


	6. why hunk tho what'd he ever do to you

Around the time Hunk was sucked into a black hole, Lance felt his instincts take over—yet again—despite how logically his brain reminded him of Kolivan’s many warnings. Was it just a coincidence that Hunk happened to bring up the last time the Blue Defender saved him, or was it some awful form of foreshadowing? It had Lance thinking about how after that time on the East Side, he tended to follow Hunk after his shifts until he became conscious aware of how stalker-ish that was. He wasn’t a stalker, and didn’t _intend_ to come across as one, so he stopped following Hunk after a few days, reassured that Ko’s men weren’t after an innocent bystander during a drug transaction.

Now, as Lance hurriedly backtracked to the corner they said their goodbyes at, he hugged at the strap of his satchel and looked both ways as he turned the corner and chased after the direction Hunk disappeared to. 

He ran several blocks before reaching the corner Hunk always turned down. As he did, he experienced the strong pull on the air around him, like the particles in midair were hardening like pebbles that he had to swim through in order to reach the spot his eyes landed on. It was hard to ignore the dark pool collecting across the street, and how it sucked around—

Hunk.

Lance jolted at the memory of Ko’s son threatening him, and how his shadows pulled at every part of him as he tried to keep the door from slamming shut—

Down the sidewalk from Hunk, he recognized that helmet, and how flawlessly sleek it was—

_I need Pidge and Allura_ , Lance thought, running to the nearest alley and tearing off the velcro of his sling. Wounds be damned—he wouldn’t let this fucker threaten him or his friends again. In the midst of throwing on the gear in his satchel, he pulled out his phone and dialed up Pidge. Before she could even get a word in, he said, “Ko’s son is in downtown Milwaukee _right now_ and he’s got Hunk—”

“Whoa, why Hunk?”

“How the fuck should I know? But I _swear_ it was Hunk. Not many guys have dreads, and not many guys who have dreads are likely to be bodybuilders, so there’s th— _fuck_! Just… get over here! Call Allura!” As he bounced on one foot, trying to get his pants on, he stuttered out the street number and the name of the building next to the alleyway.

“Do you even have y—” Pidge’s voice snapped as he disconnected the call and stuffed his phone into his bag. He stuffed the rest of his clothes in there now that he was in uniform, and strapped his satchel around his torso, over his good shoulder, and tightened it so that it wouldn’t swing around like crazy as he ran out into traffic and launched himself off the nearest concrete flowerpot. 

The thing about super strength was that it translated into everything he did. If he wanted to, a simple stomp of his foot could crack through the wood flooring in his and Pidge’s apartment. Such force could also send him vaulting into the air, which he did in order to cross traffic and bolt through the film Ko’s son made in the alleyway.

He may not have had his bow, but _boy_ did he know how to throw things.

The second he crashed onto the pavement, he blocked out Hunk’s panicked screeching to focus on grabbing the nearest object—a dumpster. He targeted Kogane as he grabbed the handle at his eye level and swung with all his might. He screamed with the effort as it sparked against the brick wall, and soared at the man in black.

Hunk dropped to the ground from where he was lifted several feet over Lance’s head. He jolted out and caught Hunk—not nearly as gracefully as he could have, but it did the job of _not_ breaking any of Hunk’s limbs. 

The dumpster was hoisted into the air by a wall of pitch black power stretching up from the ground. The tendril-like shadows lost control over it, and sent it soaring past them all, cutting a hole straight through the black wall stretching up the entrance of the alleyway. Lance shouted in a panic, cringing as the dumpster skidded into traffic, and sent cars screeching to a halt.

“Funny seeing you here, _Blue_ ,” Kogane seethed, jolting his hands out at his sides, and clenching them into fists that accumulated the dark puddles at his feet, and sending a wave forward from the black wall behind them. “I did say I wasn’t finished with you! Now’s better than never.”

“I was hoping we could get a raincheck,” Lance squeaked, grabbing Hunk and making a run for it.

They barely made it a few feet before Lance’s legs were kicked out from under him, and the two of them left the ground screaming, tipping upside down and thrown into the air. Lance went spiraling against the brick wall before he was crushed by a solid wall of darkness. It tore him down like gravity, tugging at every part of him as he scraped down the wall—thank God for satchels to break the pain of it.

“Where’s the bow, _Blue_?” Kogane taunted, and for a split second, he resurfaced just long enough to see Kogane coming towards him. The reptilian shape of his helmet was encased in the shadows that thickened and stretched, and encompassed all three of them in a bubble of complete and total darkness aside from the sheen of the sky’s reflection on Kogane’s helmet. “No friends either. Aw. Pity.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lance seethed. “Tired of fighting Defenders? Decided to start picking on _normal people_?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Kogane remarked.

“Y-Yeah, I wouldn’t either,” Hunk squeaked, and damn near cried when Kogane turned his helmet towards Hunk. “I-I’ll be quiet now.”

The distraction was enough for Lance to shove his head and hand forward and out of the darkness, long enough to grab hold and peel his shoulders through the raw molasses. He heaved forward, and grabbed Kogane by the collar of his stupid fucking leather jacket, his fist so tight that even as he was engulfed in darkness, he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let go.

He was flattened back against the wall again, and his stomach felt as though something was squeezing him, trying to pop every blood vessel in his body as it surged upward and turned his fingers numb where they clutched at Kogane’s jacket.

He couldn’t fucking feel _anything_ aside from the desperate need for _air_ —

Green lightning pulsed, and jolted Lance’s chest with its electrical current, surging movement back into his body. He had control of himself once more, except now he was falling, and collapsing over Kogane as they fell on the ground. Lance gasped, panting hard before realizing that the entire floor went black, and that he was lying on nothing more than the concrete. Kogane completely vanished as green sparks lit up the alleyway, and chased after the tunnel of darkness that swirled up overhead. 

Lance looked to where Hunk was on the ground, coughing, and wrenching himself up to his knees to peer up at where they all recognized Kogane’s helmet emerging from the top of the shadows. “Blue, we need to _go_! _Now_!” Pidge screamed from the other end of the alleyway.

Lance scrambled up, and grabbed Hunk by the arm. They ran to where Pidge then scuffed their feet across the ground, and forced her arms up. The web of green on the ground lifted, and caged in the alleyway just as a torrent of shadows clashed up against it, and strained desperately to get through. “Where’s White?” Lance demanded.

“She’s kind of busy— _right now!_ ” Pidge bit out, face twisted in concentration before letting their hands fall long enough to start sprinting down the street. Lance urged Hunk along with them, running past the mess of the dumpster in the middle of the road.

Pidge’s cage lasted just long enough for them to disappear around the corner, and lunge into the nearest building, flattening themselves against the wall. Lance braced himself in front of both of them, aware that the hotel receptionist looked beyond terrified to see two defenders and a civilian in her lobby, especially when, at that very moment, a wave of darkness washed over the entire street and pitched this block in Milwaukee into a blackhole.

All the lights in the lobby shut off in an instant, and Lance held his breath until they came on three seconds later, and the darkness outside lifted. “Wh-What was that?” the receptionist asked.

“A… solar eclipse and a blackout at the same time,” Pidge said. “It’s very rare. Oo, cool. How wonderful!”

“I’m sure that’s _exactly_ what the media will say,” Lance said sarcastically, rolling his eyes before lifting them to where Hunk’s wide brown eyes were staring at him in a daze. He suddenly realized that he had Hunk completely pinned to the wall.

Lance leapt away as though he’d been shocked, and he was thankful for the mask because he was blushing like mad. Pidge was watching the two of them, and he just _knew_ that if circumstances were different, they would have winked at Lance and shot him finger guns.

They could hear the police sirens converging, and had heard them the second they escaped the alley. However, it seemed as though Kogane flushed out of the area and took his dark, gloomy attitude with him. _Thank Heavens_ , Lance sighed as he and Pidge walked Hunk out of the safety of the hotel room after a horde of red and blue lights flashed down the street and around the corner. Lance cringed as he remembered the dumpster, and the fact that the backs of Hunk’s arms were cut up from the bricks.

They cautiously turned the corner, and upon reassuring themselves that Kogane was long gone, Pidge ushered Hunk alongside them to approach the police, and the oncoming ambulance. Just as Lance was about to help quell the commotion for Hunk of being confronted by medics, Pidge whistled to him and pointed to the dumpster. 

“Take care of this mess, young man,” they ordered, because all three of them could see the police scratching their heads at the mess.

Lance pouted and was about to march off before he heard Hunk’s voice call out, “Wait! I have a question—”

Lance spun back around, alert and beaming as though he was preparing to receive the best gift ever. Something about it must have thrown Hunk off, because he bit his lip in that flustered way that had Lance’s heart positively _singing_. Hunk looked away, hands fiddling in front of him.

“It’s just—I was wondering if you… remember that time a few months ago? You saved me from being beat up by a bunch of guys out on the street?” he asked.

Just the mention of it had Lance smiling even wider as he said, “Yeah! I remember you!”

At that Hunk crumbled into a fit of girlish giggles and said, “Thank _God!_ Because I’ve been your biggest fan ever since and I was wondering if you could sign my arm or something.”

Pidge snorted from behind Hunk as Lance stuttered out a weak, “Sure…! I don’t… have a pen…”

“I have one!” a medic blurted out, and rushed over with a small marker and said, “It’s meant for surgery, but it works as a Sharpie. Could I get your autograph too? And Green?”

Lance blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the _first_ time he handed out autographs, but… Defenders weren’t exactly _celebrities_. They were just like officers who protected civilians and defended the city from crumbling into anarchy. But Defenders just… got more screen time, it seemed. People weren’t going up in arms creating franchises about them like baseball players, though—at least… not as far as Lance knew… 

Kolivan kept a pretty tight leash on them in that regard. Corporations wouldn’t be making money off of them without giving the four of them a cut if Kolivan had anything to say about it.

So Lance took the surgical marker and took the arm Hunk offered to him like a voluntary sacrifice. He looped the B in Blue and curled it into the rest of the cursive letters that came off slanted and sharp, and condensed together over the inside of Hunk’s wrist.

He signed the medic’s phone case before passing the marker off to Pidge so he could take care of the dumpster. He felt hollow thinking about when, if ever, Hunk found out about Lance’s occupation. It was bitter of him to think about how embarrassed Hunk would be to have asked for his autograph. 

Lance sighed as he hefted the dumpster up with both arms regardless of the ache not only in his shoulder, but in his chest where his heart screamed, _I can’t believe your crush just asked for your autograph like you were a goddamn baseball star or something!_ And Lance would tell himself, “I know right? I’m just another one of those conceited fucks on television talking to the anchors like the world revolves around _them!_ ” but alas, he didn’t talk to himself, so he just walked back to the alleyway and plunked the dumpster down with a deafening _crash_! 

The return of the dumpster was followed by a roar of applause from the streets, and so he turned and bowed respectably. 

He stepped out and dreaded what came after for the first time in a while. He felt oddly disconnected from himself as he spoke with the police officers—the usual drill—and how he’d have to talk to his rep before the questioning he and Pidge would have to go through at the precinct. Usually, he didn’t mind the conversation that occurred _after_ the fact, but now… he couldn’t stop thinking about how cute and distracting Hunk was, studying Lance’s signature on his arm where he sat in the back of the ambulance.

Eventually, Lance managed to wrangle Pidge up from where the first of the journalists were cruising in to interview them. They were preening themself for the attention when Lance grabbed her by the arm. “C’mon, let’s duck out of here before anyone notices,” he said. 

“Aw, but the _cameras—!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah. I know how you love them,” Lance laughed, and lifted them away and up onto his shoulders. The act was so fluid and natural that Pidge hardly seemed surprised. They twisted back and rummaged around Lance’s satchel for his phone.

They unlocked the phone and called Kolivan to swing by with a car so that they could evade the swarm of journalists coming to capture the damaged cars from the total dumpster fire. There were approximately eight missed calls from Allura, and Lance was secretly disappointed that she never ended up showing up to the disaster.

“Barely managed to avoiding getting slaughtered. Part _two_ ,” Lance muttered as he walked Pidge down the sidewalk away from the ambulances, and the road blockers. 

“You know what old man Avonaco has to say about that,” Pidge said, and continued to recite, “A day that goes by where you three don’t die, I consider a success!” 

Lance chuckled and twirled around to give them both that light, feathery feeling in their skulls that came with the after effects of having brushed Death, flipped Death off, and continued about their day as if nothing happened.

That evening as dusk fell and Kolivan picked them up, they tore off their masks and sighed at the sweet release of another day gone. He thought everything was over until Kolivan twisted around in the passenger’s seat to scowl blatantly at Lance. “Did I tell you to take off that sling?” he all but hissed out.

Lance cowered and hurriedly loosened his satchel and swung it around. “No, sir. Putting it back on right now, sir.”

“You’re so dead to him,” Pidge giggled after Kolivan turned back around. 

Lance punched them in the arm, and instantly regretted it with a shrill, “ _Shit!_ I didn’t mean to! Oh, _God_ , you’re gonna flaunt that bruise around me all week until Allura’s better, aren’t you?” So of course Pidge pretended to cry and agree that they would _totally_ be wearing tank tops just so Lance could see the damage he inflicted on them. 

“This is why we can’t play punch buggie! _This is why we can’t have nice things!_ ” they moaned, sliding on the bench as their feet dipped under the passenger’s seat. “I’m _dying_ …!” 

“ _Pidge!”_ Lance whined, and pleaded with her for the remainder of the trip to headquarters.

They didn’t spend a terribly long amount of time there _, thank_ _God_. Lance lost some part of his patience half an hour prior. He never considered himself to be “celebrity status”, and any time prior he was just an exciting part of a little kid’s day. He always loved children, so that never bothered him as much as _this_.

Was it because of the fame that came with being the _Legendary Defender_ people saw on newspapers, or on television? And he’d be lying if he said that he never once looked up fan art of himself online… But that was completely besides the point!

Kolivan had Lance sitting on a stool in his office, and his large, squarish hands cupping Lance’s swollen, irritated shoulder. The entire time, Kolivan was mutter to himself about how idiotic Lance was to be out there putting pressure on his arm like that. “—You may have super strength, but your body is still human and can’t take that sort of strain if it isn’t a hundred percent.”

“I know…” Lance moaned miserably as Pidge sat across the room, fiddling around on their phone. “But Kogane was literally _right there!_ I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

“You shouldn’t even be carrying around your uniform. Do you even understand how expensive your suit _is?_ It would take you _years_ to financially recover if you lost your uniform. Not only could someone find it and take it, but you aren’t on the clock. You may be on stand-by, but that doesn’t give you the right to play vigilante at all times,” Kolivan warned, and Pidge started snapping their fingers open and closed like a puppet mouth, making goofy faces around the words, “ _That doesn’t give you the right! Blah, blah, blah._ ” 

Lance hid his smirk as best be could as Kolivan continued to lecture, and the pain in his shoulder receded back to where it was before he picked a fight with Kogane. Eventually, Lance and Pidge were released on the promise that they would complete their homework of handwritten statements to be sent in to the police. Lance hated doing paperwork, but being a Defender was his dream job, and with all the perks, there came some element of boredom as well. 

Kolivan had his driver take Lance and Pidge back to their house. On the way there, Lance was reminded of how their driver had a uniform a lot like Keith’s guard, and the guys sitting out back of Keith’s apartment. Distantly, he said, “I have a date on Saturday.”

He looked at Pidge, who gave a start and narrowed their eyes at him. “So?”

“So? I have a date on Saturday. That’s exciting, right?”

“That depends.”

“He’s rich and _he_ asked _me_ out on a date.”

“Allura’s gonna be so jealous,” they snorted, and at the time they both snorted and cackled in the back of Kolivan’s car.

They weren’t laughing when they got to their apartment, found Allura already inside, wearing a scarf that Pidge immediately shrieked at. “It’s literally _eighty degrees out_ and the only reason anyone would wear a _scarf—_ ”

“Pidge— _no!_ ” Allura cried out, clutching her hand to her scarf as she ran away from Pidge’s rampage. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it! My phone died! I didn’t have my ringer on!”

Lance flinched as Allura swung open the bathroom door—the only door in the apartment that had a lock—and they were instantly screaming at the top of their lungs as Beast tore through the hallway and clamored into the living room where Lance quickly shut the apartment door and faced off against the monster hissing and spitting at him. He could feel the scratch mark on his lip throbbing yet again.

“Pidge this isn’t funny!” Allura screamed, tripping into the living room with Pidge on her back. They snatched onto Allura’s scarf and unraveled it even as Allura flung her hands in the air to shake them away.

Lance was momentarily distracted by all the _hickeys on that woman’s throat_.

“Are you kidding me!” Lance whined as Allura flushed all shades up pink up to her hairline. She grabbed her scarf from Pidge and circled it back around her neck now that they both saw the damage. And, quite honestly, it looked like Allura was near-tears from the attention. Lance could feel guilty later. “Here I am, all proud about scoring a date, and you already got _laid_ before _me?_ ”

“It wasn’t like that,” she uttered weakly. “I feel so bad not being there for you guys, though. I-I shouldn’t be—If having a boyfriend really _does_ hinder my ability to show up when need be, I’ll just… I’ll call it off! I don’t want to do this to you guys again. Especially not when it’s _Kogane_ we’re talking about.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Pidge blurted, voice numb as they swayed over the couch and swooned on it. “Unbelievable.”

“Who is it?” Lance asked. “You haven’t been interested in anyone since your last boyfriend turned out to be a drug lord.”

Allura shrunk even further as she pouted and whispered, “I am a terrible judge of character…”

“I still can’t believe you dated a drug lord and didn’t know it,” Pidge said, still struck and staring vacantly at the ceiling. “It was probably the most hilarious thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Shut up, Pidge, you aren’t helping,” Lance whined.

“I’m just being honest!”

“No, Pidge is right. Honestly, y’all should just arrange my dates _for_ me since I trust literally anyone and everything. I was always horrible at going to carnivals. All the carnies have to say is ‘Step right up!’ and I’m already there,” Allura cried out, flopping down beside Pidge. Lance, after a second of debating, sat beside her and pinched his good hand over the bridge of his nose.

“Well… I can’t _yell at you_ when you already know that you’ve done wrong,” Lance complained. “I’d prefer it if you weren’t guilty about this.”

“But… you guys could have _died_. If you _die_ , at least let me be there to die _with you_ ,” she said, and Pidge snorted off to the side. She twisted her hands around her lap and hummed for a moment, eyes red. She was the sort of crier who’s red-rimmed eyes translated into cherry red lips, and when she blubbered, she licked her lips a lot so they were all slick and shiny like her glassy eyes. 

Lance stretched an arm around her shoulders and tipped his head towards her’s. “It’s okay. We made it. Hunk almost died, though. It was scary.”

“Why would Kogane go after Hunk?” Allura asked. “Never mind. No one probably knows that.”

“You’re right. So who are you dating now?”

“Well… it’s that guy Keith is friends with. He came into Alterra the other day and gave me his phone number. So _I_ initiated it, which makes this so much worse because I can’t even blame it on _him_ asking me out on a date tonight,” she whined, sniffing even as Lance was now smiling at her. She dabbed her fingers under her eyes and said, “But it was nice. He picked me up and we went to this neat garden terrace across the street from Bradford Beach. It was so classy. I loved it.”

“You do love classy guys. That’s why you date drug lords,” Pidge said, and earned a slap from both Allura and Lance.

“So how’d the, uh, the scarf dilemma happen,” Lance asked.

“Well, there’s this huge mansion thing in the garden and you’re not allowed to go upstairs, but no one was around so we snuck up,” she explained. “And then we hid out for a while talking.”

“ _Talking_ ,” Pidge giggled, and Lance was too busy laughing to slap them.

Lance rolled his eyes at them and proceeded to listen as Allura talked about everything Shiro told her, and how he used to live in Pennsylvania for school, and how he and Keith were related. She told him how Coran, the owner of that Alterra coffee, was her uncle, but failed to mention that her uncle used to be a Defender _back in the day_ and was the reason why Kolivan took such interest in her. And while invisibility wasn’t in Allura’s genes, restoration was. Kolivan and Coran were in the same classes after graduating high school. Lance remembered all the potential Defenders in his strength-training courses. It was a lot like Lance and his squadron, which happened to reflect a lot of the “sorority-fraternity attitude”. Lance could move to New York City, or Seattle, Portland, Denver, and he’d have someone from training to not only house him, but refer him to the Defender agencies around the area.

Lance grew up in Milwaukee though—he couldn’t abandon his favorite city. Especially not now.

He faded back into the conversation around the part where—

“—And he put his hands on my face and then we were _making out_ for I don’t know _how long_ , and—”

“Oh my _God_ , I don’t want to hear this. I’m going to sleep,” Pidge whined, about to push off the couch when she realized that something was weighing into her hair from the back of the seat.

Lance still had his arm around Allura’s shoulders, so he could feel the fluff ball rumbling against his forearm. Beast’s head was tucked by Pidge’s, and Allura twisted around to see that the Beast was finally tame. “Wow, that only took, what? a month?” she asked.

Lance and Pidge were so startled that they were actually witnessing Beast fall asleep whilst in _proximity to them_. Come to think of it, Lance had never _once_ saw Beast sleep _ever_ in the history of that damned cat living in the apartment. Lance was almost certain that that cat’s insomnia was the cause of all their pain and suffering. 

It didn’t last very long, because the second Pidge tried to pull away, the Beast leapt up and sunk her claws into Pidge’s scalp. Allura shrieked, and Lance cried out and tried to grab the cat away from their head. Allura scrambled off the couch as Lance caught Beast and heaved her away from Pidge’s wounded head. 

So much for peace and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALLURA that SAUCY LADY. They went to the Villa Terrace and I happened to show up there on the day it opened this summer with a few of my friends and it was FREE and so we WANDERED AROUND IT FOR A WHILE IT WAS WILD. There was a lady playing the cello on top of the terrace it was suave as all hell. 
> 
> [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	7. treat my boy right, keith

It was Friday, and Lance was back in his sling because Allura’s external powers came in sparks and wasn’t reliable yet. He could tell she was frustrated by her inability to use her gift, so he tried not to complain about how much his shoulder bothered him. The last place he could complain about it was at work, where Lance was now listening to another rendition of Hunk’s daring Blue Defender story. 

“—And I know superhero movies aren’t super popular or anything, but it was _exactly_ like when Superman crashes into Earth on one knee and totally leaves a dent where he landed. _That_ was how he swooped in! People were taking pictures at the crash sight afterwards,” Hunk explained as he leant on the counter near the espresso machine. He waited patiently as Lance tapped in a new order for another customer. As soon as he was done, though, Hunk launched into the story again with new vigor.

It was tiring listening to it again, and Lance was surprised with how little he seemed to care. Did Hunk’s fangirl moment completely turn him off to the idea of a relationship with him? _Did_ Lance ever _really_ consider a relationship with Hunk, or was it just a fantasy? Lance’s existential crisis the night before passed on into that day, and continued as Hunk made broad gestures in the form of Kogane’s shadow-waves rising up over them.

But he adored listening to Hunk talk about that time months ago when he saved Hunk from being attacked by those guys involved in one of Ko’s transactions. What made this any different?

Lance looked across the coffee shop and made eye contact with Keith, who was just as stoic as ever. He was peering over at Lance from above the screen of his laptop, and seemed to duck shyly behind it when Lance caught him staring.

Keith may not have been a tall-dark-and-handsome-volunteer-at-a-nursing-home type of guy, but… Lance turned soft under Keith’s cute tendencies.

“—I hadn’t expected the Green Defender to be so _small_ , either!” Hunk said, and Lance suddenly snorted, drawn back into the conversation by the mention of Pidge.

“Really? How small are they?”

“Like… half my height! I was so surprised! And yet… they totally cornered that guy like it was nothing. It was sort of my life goal to see the Green Defender in action. I mean, not many people have that sort of power. Kind of a rare gem, since _we_ don’t even know that much about it. It’s not quick lightning, it’s more… tech-y, I guess. It looks like the circuit board of computer.”

“I heard they’re studying technological powers,” Lance said offhandedly. It wasn’t entirely a lie—Pidge was taking computer science classes at UWM to assist in their heists. “So it must be true.”

“You think? That’s interesting to think about. Do you suppose people are able to adapt other powers?” he asked, and Lance shrugged. 

“I’m sure that… there’s extensions to powers you could dabble in.” He thought about how, if he tried, he could sprint faster than anyone in his training regime. The power in his legs was often overlooked until he could jump several feet into the air without breaking a sweat. 

“I suppose. I hear that they can take out guns by setting them off from the inside. It’s like… detonating a bomb in the enemy’s hand,” Hunk said. 

“I heard that they can levitate by standing on their own electrical currents,” he said, smiling as Hunk gasped and fretted over the concept until he had to leave to get back to work. 

Before Hunk turned away, he snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “Wait! I meant to ask you something. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the gym with me tomorrow morning. My usual workout partner isn’t around, so…”

“Yeah!” Lance blurted out, smiling like mad. “Of course! What time?”

They set up a time to meet at the lobby of their gym before Hunk waved farewell and strolled through the Alterra doors. It was chillier out that day, and the lake breeze drifted in through the open garage-styled doors that they propped open that morning. Lance returned to the cash register where Allura assigned him until his arm was better and he could actually use it with the espresso machine. He sighed over the counter and looked at Keith again, who resumed work on his computer until he realized Lance was watching him with a faint, dreamy smile on his lips. He ducked his head when he was caught, feeling a lot like Keith when he hid behind his computer screen.

“You’re ridiculous,” Allura huffed from the side.

“What do you mean?”

“You flirt with Hunk one minute and then make lovey-dovey eyes at Keith,” she said.

Lance gawked, offended, “I do _not_ flirt with Hunk—”

“In your own little way,” she argued softly. She had a cheeky little grin on her face as she taunted him, and he progressively turned redder and redder, covering his face with his hands so she couldn’t see how rattled he was.

Sure, he saw Hunk at the gym once in a while, and worked out with him on occasion, but… usually _he_ was always the one to initiate. For the rest of the day, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling giddily at Keith while simultaneously thinking about how Hunk wanted _Lance_ to workout with him! As if that day couldn’t get any better.

Keith was bitter about how fast Shiro worked. 

Shiro stopped by the morning of his date with Lance, and he was wearing a button up shirt that really… wasn’t buttoned up. It was just so Keith could see all the love bites on his throat and upper pecs. Keith stopped the knife over the fish he was cutting at the time, and stared for a moment before glaring up at that smug, cocky look on Shiro’s face. “Shut the fuck up,” Keith hissed.

“I didn’t say anything,” he laughed. “I just walked in and you’re already telling me to leave.”

“You gotta hear it _some_ time considering you obviously didn’t hear that last night,” Keith argued, and soured under Shiro’s loud barks of laughter as he drummed his hands on the counter in front of Keith. Keith viciously ripped the spine out of the fish and slapped it over Shiro’s hands.

“Ew! Gross,” he whined as Keith went about his business of slimming the fish down. “Are you _making_ dinner for Lance?”

“Fuck no. I already made reservations, and I’m an awful cook,” he scoffed, and earned raised eyebrows for it. “What?”

“You’re an excellent chef,” Shiro insisted. “I was… actually wondering if you’d want to help me make dinner for my girlfriend one of these nights.”

“Like hell I’m gonna help you get laid,” Keith said.

“You’re literally the worst wingman ever,” he whined. “And you’d really like her! It’s the girl from Alterra. I think she’s Lance’s manager or something I don’t really know.”

“Do you even know her name?”

“ _Yes_. It’s Allura,” he said, and sighed dreamily over the counter. The excessiveness of it just told Keith that he was, for the most part, kidding around. 

At last Shiro took a seat across from Keith and folded his hands over the counter. Keith sliced around the spine of the next perch and ripped it out through the bottom end. He tossed it next to the other ones and slimmed it before setting the knife aside. “This is just lunch for us and Sendak’s guys,” Keith said.

“Yum,” Shiro hummed as he followed Keith out to the patio. He fell into the conversation the guards were having at the time they walked out there, and Keith stuck to his work with frying up all the perch for them. He tossed them into the frying oil with his usual calm composure as he listened to them all chatter about, as if they weren’t starting a war with the city by sitting there playing god.

Keith considered the odds of killing the Blue and Green Defender. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Green’s abilities since the fight. Shiro had plenty to say on the matter that night, considering how “irrational and emotionally compromised” he was at the time he nearly slit Hunk’s throat. And _then_ that man goes into Alterra the next day as if Keith _hadn’t_ threatened his life? It was ridiculous. It was _embarrassing_. 

So now he couldn’t just let Hunk roam wild. He had to finish the guy off if it was the last thing he did. 

They ate out on the patio until Keith ordered Shiro to help him pick out an outfit for that evening. He assigned one of the guards to cleanup duty—he made the meal while the rest of them sat around and talked, so they could survive a few minutes of standing at the sink cleaning dishes. Keith and Shiro disappeared up into the second level of the loft where he pried open the double doors of Keith’s closet, and cringed at the mess he left that morning.

“I… tried to find something suitable and couldn’t,” Keith explained as Shiro scratched the back of his head, assessing the amount of clothes Keith strewn across the floor.

“Well, what restaurant are you guys going to?”

Keith bit his lip, cringing a little. “It’s… not casual,” he whispered.

“Well, what is it? Does Lance know it’s not casual?”

“… No…” Keith started, hesitantly, pinching his hands in the fabric of his sweatshirt. “I got us reservations at the Harbor House.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“Keith… The boy’s probably never spent more than twenty dollars on a meal.”

“I know…”

Shiro twisted his hands in his hair and asked the most dreadful question ever: “Do you have his number? You have to tell him to at _least_ wear slacks and a collared shirt.”

Keith deflated, moaning, “I don’t fucking _have_ his phone number.”

Shiro was a fast thinker, and a logical one at that, so he called up Allura and asked if she was able to contact Lance. Keith sat on the edge of his bed, nervously fiddling with the sheets until Shiro came out of the closet with a relieved sigh. “She’s gonna tell him for you. You fucking owe me.”

“Thanks. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” Keith confessed, and as Shiro muttered something like, “Of course you fucking didn’t,” they went back to the closet and started sorting through the mess.

With Shiro’s help, it was easy to come up with something formal yet classic. And with Shiro’s help, it was possible for Allura to call up Lance as he was on his way back from hanging out with Hunk. He was in a state of absolute bliss due to the fact that the god in human flesh was actually _paying attention to him!_ He was still reeling from the surreal conversation about each and every friend of Hunk’s at the nursing home, and all their quirks and tempers. 

Lance could listen to Hunk’s stories all day, but his reveries drifted the second he answered his ringing phone with a casual, “Hello th—”

“ _Lance!_ Your date with Keith is in T-minus-five-hours and you’re going to a five-star restaurant! This is no time for dilly-dallying!” Allura shrieked into the phone.

“What are you—”

“Shiro called me and said Keith failed to mention the fact that this is, like, a suit-and-tie occasion. Do you even own a suit?” she demanded, and Lance’s heart leapt into his throat and started to swell with all of his concerns. “Didn’t think so! So we gotta whip up something and—Wait. You were just at the gym.”

“Shit, I need to take a shower. I need to take a _bath_ so I _smell really nice_! Fuck, where did I even put my lavender soap,” Lance cried out, tensing in the middle of the sidewalk as he panicked over where it could be—

“No time! I’m on my way to your apartment right now so you better be there or else!” she shouted into the phone before hanging up. Lance was running before she even finished her threat. 

Lance’s excitement about going to a fancy restaurant nearly overshadowed the stress of getting a decent outfit together. He had an idea of what he’d wear the second he barged into the apartment—after having shoved open the jammed door—and found Allura already inside waiting for him. He was gross and sweaty and he totally knew it just from the look she gave him. “Shower, now,” she demanded.

They released the kraken—AKA the Beast—from the bathroom so Lance could shower properly without worrying about getting attacked through the curtain. Unfortunately, though, the second he stepped into the bathroom, he cried out in distress and dragged Allura in to see. 

“Do you see this disaster?” he whined, pointing to the shredded shower curtain. “I can’t shower without coverage!”

“Well… you’re just gonna have to. Either that or take a bath,” she said, ushering him over and starting the water for him. “I’m gonna root through all of your clothes while you’re at it. And I’m gonna look up the menu online.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes fancy menus disguise food in fancy bilingual disguises,” she said. “Now _go!_ ”

Lance jumped into motion and locked the door behind Allura so he could unstrap his sling, strip, and shimmy into the shower current. He scrubbed the sweat and grim off of him—though it was all evidence of his work out with Hunk, a pity—and whipped out his best shampoo and shower gel. He went so far as to exfoliate his hands and arms and, tentatively, his neck as he considered how Allura’s date panned out.

 _You’re overthinking it_ , Lance told himself. _Do you really think he’s going to even kiss you on the first date?_

The image of Keith sitting so close to him on the roof of his apartment flickered into focus, and how Keith _smiled at him_ and talked in his quiet, gentle voice… He imagined Keith could talk for hours like that and never lose his breath.

 _God, I hope he does kiss me_ , he thought fervently, sighing into the warm water as he scrubbed off the salt and the soap so he could get out of the shower.

  


  


Lance showed up to Keith’s apartment right on the dot. Though, he happened to linger around the boardwalk, incessantly checking his phone for the time until it was okay for him to come into view of the patio. He left his sling behind—knowing he’d get scolded for it, but he didn’t care. There was a woman sitting out on the patio this time around, and she had a book in her hand as she observed Lance approaching the stairs. He wondered if she was just pretending to read.

He couldn’t see much through the windows as he approached the patio door, and knocked gingerly on it. He realized then that the windows seemed to have a glare on them that prevented him from looking in, but he was already stepping into the apartment and startling Keith, who took perhaps two steps towards the door from where he was in the kitchen with Shiro.

“I better be off,” Shiro announced as both Keith and Lance stopped in their tracks. Lance openly looked Keith up and down with an appreciative grin, but shook himself out of it to turn to Keith’s cousin. 

The man finished off his drink on the counter before pushing away and grabbing a set of keys with him. “You two have fun,” he said on his way out the front door. 

Lance thanked him weakly, his cheeks hurting from the fact that he was smiling since he stepped foot in the apartment. When the door closed, Keith stepped closer and held his hand out to Lance. “How’s your elbow?” he asked.

Lance blinked for a moment, and remembered the sling he left behind. “It’s fine. Just sore,” he confessed, and he wasn’t lying.

Keith smiled at him, stepping in so they could study one another for a solid minute in silence. “Should… we get going then?” he asked, and Lance’s stomach seemed to bloom with a flutter of butterflies that always seemed to happen when he went on dates. It’d been a while, though—months, even. He may have been counting down the days to his year anniversary of being completely alone, which was a feat in and of itself.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said. “I hear we’re going some place fancy. I’m excited.”

Keith laughed and said, “Trust me—I don’t normally eat at expensive restaurants. So this will be a bit new.”

“Please—at least tell me you went to _one_ fancy restaurant in every country you lived in.”

“I don’t know. Well—everything is stupidly expensive in Tokyo when it comes to food. If you plan on getting steak or something, you might as well take fifty bucks out of your pocket walking into the place,” Keith said as he grabbed a set of keys off the wall and a jacket. 

“Seriously?” he blurted out, eyes wide as Keith hummed his accent. “Why is it so expensive?”

“Everything’s either imported, or the livestock is treated _really_ well before it’s, you know, slaughtered,” Keith said, “Which is why I only ate fish when I visited. It was just for two weeks though.”

They delved into this sort of small talk as Keith took Lance to the elevator after locking up the apartment. There, Lance held onto Keith’s hand with both of his own, and listened to Keith talk in a small, intimate voice meant for him alone. And in the quiet of the elevator, his words seemed to flower like the flurry of petals in Lance’s stomach, rising in his chest where his excitement settled in. 

He realized that he _really_ didn’t want to be alone anymore.

They walked into the parking garage where their steps echoed, and their voices even more so. Keith unlocked the car, and it beeped from across the concrete tunnel. As they climbed in, Lance noted the tinted windows, and the fact that they were all alone. 

“No guard this time?” Lance asked, grinning at Keith.

“Not really.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” he laughed.

“Well—I told them I didn’t need it for tonight. And I don’t want anyone third-wheeling our date,” he explained as he shifted gears and pulled out of the parking garage. 

“Living dangerously,” he commented, and Keith laughed.

“I doubt anyone’s gonna try anything tonight. And if they do, I’ll be royally pissed,” he said, glancing at Lance before he turned the corner and Lance thought, _Holy hot damn_. 

Keith pulled out the aux chord for Lance to do with as he pleased. He yelped in excitement and played DJ for the ride to the restaurant, and as he sank into the plush leather seats, he basked in the luxury of Keith’s hella nice car. He nearly closed his eyes for the rest of the ride, but his excitement kept him awake as they pulled into the parking lot and drifted underneath the overhang at the front. Keith stepped out of the car and walked around to Lance’s side to help him out and pass the keys to the valet.

Lance glanced over his shoulder as the valet drove their car off when Keith said, “Don’t worry about it—I doubt he’s gonna crash it.”

“You think he drives stick shift?”

“I wonder if that’s a requirement for valets,” he hummed. “You think you could look it up?” 

Lance pulled out his phone to Google it as Keith spoke to the hostess. Lance was momentarily distracted by the bar they passed on the way to the tables on the other side of the restaurant. They could see the kitchen up until the hostess laid menus down at a raised booth arrangement where plants were nestled overhead on shelves. 

The booths were shaped like crescents, and as Keith claimed one end close to the opening, Lance moved all the way to the back where he could see the windows, and beyond that, the lake and the Art Museum gleaming with light across the way. Before Keith could get settled, Lance reached over and plucked at his shirt. “Move over here, you goofball,” he said, patting the cushion next to him.

“I figured you might want some space,” Keith confessed, flushing a little as he moved in beside Lance so their hips touched. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve gone too long with a whole lot of space,” Lance hummed as he opened his menu and remembered Allura’s tip not to get anything messy or terribly fishy. So lobster was a no-go, and the price of it was enough to make Lance faint. 

He realized Keith was waiting for him to continue, and so he cleared his throat and explained, “I haven’t gone on a _real_ date in a while. Nothing really worked out this past year… and if it did I must have been too _overbearing_ , I guess.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been told I come off as desperate sometimes,” he laughed nervously, and winced. “Wow. Horrible topic. Sorry—”

“It’s fine. I never pegged you as that, so I find that hard to believe,” Keith said.

“Lucky you. I’m pretty sure I quoted my last girlfriend on that,” he said, swallowing hard as he reached for a glass of water. “I come from a _relatively_ big family, and affection is big where all that is concerned. Always wanting to know what my siblings are doing, where they are… Guess it kind of translates into my other relationships too. I’m that way with my roommate, Pidge, too.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Just two. Julian—he’s a senior in high school now—and Rosa. My mom wanted to have more but she had what I would consider to be a _lot_ of miscarriages. I think she’s just incredibly thankful that we all worked out all right,” he explained. “And… I’m rambling. God—that was all really heavy. I’m sorry.”

“I _did_ say I wanted to get to know you better,” Keith laughed. “And you’d be surprised how much I can take. My whole childhood was pretty fucked up compared to what I consider ‘normal’.”

“Why’s that?”

“The family business, mostly. And several of my relatives were actually murdered when I was younger and—”

“Holy _shit!_ ” Lance blurted out, and slapped his hand over his mouth as Keith laughed and shushed him. If they were in McDonalds, Lance was sure no one would have batted an eye. They both dissolved into giggles, which was just fucked up because of the topic Keith just swung in with a figurative bat.

“Yeah, so… after that it was all pretty bizarre and my dad didn’t want me around Milwaukee for all of that _mess_. So I ended up in Pennsylvania for all of middle school and high school. And all through high school I was involved with college courses in the city next over.”

“You said you were interested in languages.”

“Yeah. A lot of the college courses were involved with linguistics and stuff. I took Spanish and Italian in high school—which is why it think I’m mediocre at both of those. You tend to mix up words in those two. And French is _just_ different enough that if you have a background in Italian, you really excel in it. But I’ve been speaking Japanese all my life and so has Shiro, so we’re both pretty fluent in it even if we can’t _write_ in Japanese.”

“Well, if you ever need Spanish help, my entire family is fluent in it,” Lance said eagerly. “In high school I actually dated this girl who literally only dated me to talk Spanish with my family and improve her accent for the exam.”

Keith snorted from behind his menu just as the waitress walked up to get their order. At that point, they both looked guiltily at one another and confessed that they needed another five minutes to decide. They hadn’t even bothered to look at their menus once.

Eventually they got around to ordering drinks—Lance described to Keith what his favorites were so Keith could decide on something new for him. They ordered food when their drinks arrived, and Lance, much to Keith’s dismay, nudged off his shoes so he could cross his legs. “I’ll put them on later,” he reassured Keith, tugging up his pant leg to show off his socks. “Besides, don’t you like them? They’re striped.”

Keith laughed as he unfolded his napkin and said, “I know—I noticed them when you were getting out of the car.”

Lance snorted and cackled out loud. He slapped his hand over his mouth again, squinting his eyes at Keith, who dissolved into a fit of giggles against the booth cushions.

And they hadn’t even drunk a drop of alcohol yet.

Their food came as the sunset started to color the water in sharp, rippling shadows of the Milwaukee skyline. Lance laced their fingers together under the table as their food came, and he pulled his plate over with an awe-inspired gasp. Keith scooped out a bit of his dish for Lance to try, and just to mess with him, Lance let out a low, sensual moan that had Keith jumping to shut him up. He was sure they’d get kicked out of this restaurant one way or another, and if it happened to be through orgasmic moans, then so be it.

Lance was surprised by how much of his dish he finished before he was full. He figured if he and Keith hadn’t swapped plates at all, Lance could have finished every last bite of his fish. They sat around for a while after their plates drifted off, just drinking and talking quietly to one another about this-or-that. And, by the time that it occurred to Lance that he wasn’t terribly stuffed anymore, Keith ordered them a dessert to split. 

As the waitress walked away, Keith turned his attention back to Lance, and was surprised to find Lance clutching to his arm with puppy-dog eyes, saying, “I haven’t had dessert at a restaurant since I was in _sixth grade_.”

“No kidding?” Keith said.

“Yeah—because then Julian was born and I wasn’t allowed to get dessert anymore.”

“Well… you can get dessert whenever you want now. Dessert for dinner!” he gasped, clutching at Lance’s hand. “We should make cannoli next time—!”

“ _Make_ them? How do you make them? I thought it was just magic,” Lance confessed.

“I made them once with my mom. It was a really bizarre memory… because I’ve only seen her a handful of times and I can’t believe one of those occasions was spent making cannoli.”

“Incredible.”

Keith hummed in thought, and they relaxed back into the cushions as they waited for the dessert to come by. It was covered in chocolate and ice cream, and Lance ate half of it before he remembered Allura’s rule—nothing chocolate because it stains and it gets all over his face anyways.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” Lance said, patting Keith on the leg and not really registering that he just basically caressed Keith’s upper thigh before he slid out of the booth shoeless and let the alcohol hit him like a brick to the face.

He could still see straight, and he hoped he was walking straight as he headed to the bathroom. Allura was right: his entire mouth was covered in chocolate. And he walked through the entire _restaurant_ like this? Unbelievable. He took a paper towel and dampened it, scrubbing off the remnants of the dessert and whatever was in his teeth. There was floss in his pocket that he used to clean up his molars before licking his teeth clean and practicing a few smiles in the mirror before washing his hands off.

Keith was still at the booth when Lance came back, and declared that he paid for the meal while Lance was away, so they could head out if he was ready. Lance nodded sleepily, letting the food coma settle in and just take him out. 

Lance slipped his shoes back on as Keith slid out of the booth. They walked out together to the valet desk where they stood under warm lights and studied one another in complete and utter silence until Lance tipped forward and placed his head on Keith’s shoulder. They both swayed in time to whatever music was playing on the speakers at the time—it was probably Kelly Clarkson, but who was Lance to say? Eventually, the car came by, and Keith tipped the valet guy on his way to the driver’s side. Lance slumped into the passenger’s seat with a sleepy smile and a delighted sigh. 

“I had a really nice time, Keith,” he confessed, just as surprised as Keith by the lurch in his voice that threatened to make him emotional. 

Lance blinked his drunken, emotional eyes over at Keith, who reached over and took Lance’s hand. “Hey—what’s the matter? Did you like the meal?”

“I did. I really did,” he said, sniffling as he brushed his free hand over his eyes as Keith pulled forward and parked ahead a ways, so he wouldn’t get in the way of other cars.

“Then what is it?”

“I just had a _really,_ really nice time…” he moaned miserably. “I don’t know why I’m being emotional.”

“Would you want to go out with me again?” Keith asked.

“Yeah. I want those cannoli you promised,” he said.

“When do you want to do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know… I can’t think straight,” he sighed, finally able to brush away the tears that leaked from his glassy eyes once and for all. He sighed again, and again, until his breathing was normal again. 

“Do you want me to drop you off at your apartment?” Keith asked, but Lance just shook his head. Rationally, though, he knew he the only other option was staying at Keith’s apartment. “Okay,” Keith said, giving Lance’s hand a squeeze before lifting it up and kissing it. 

Keith started up the car again and took his hand back so he could navigate the car better. After a few minutes of listening to the radio, Lance was overcome with embarrassment for drunkenly turning emotional like that in front of Keith. _God, all of Keith’s dates are probably cool, calm, and collected at all times_ , he thought wretchedly, dragging a hand over his face as he twisted around to look out the tinted window at the city passing by. They ducked underneath the bridge leading into the Third Ward at some point, and then dipped into the parking garage where Keith parked the car.

Lance straightened up in his seat and moved to get out of the car. As he stood up, Keith met him there and closed his door for him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked Lance, who nodded reassuringly. 

“It’s just—it’s been a while,” he confessed, since that was the result he came up with during the ride. “I shouldn’t have broken down like that. That was awkward.”

“I don’t mind,” he insisted, reaching for Lance’s hand again. “Really.”

“Really?”

“Really. And I don’t want you walking alone in the dark, so if you stay the night the couch in the living room turns into a bed if you aren’t comfortable sharing,” Keith said, “Otherwise I can get my guard to drive you, or I could, if you want.”

Lance remembered how desperately he wanted Keith to kiss him that night, and his resolve led him to nod in hopes that at some point between the car and Keith’s apartment door, he’d get to feel the sensation of Keith’s lips on his for the first time.

He considered himself sober at some point, and he was iffy as to when the buzz faded off. Lance held on to Keith’s hand as they stood together in the elevator, and Lance waited urgently for Keith to make the move. But Keith just stood there as stoic as ever, watching his floor number pop up and the elevator doors open. 

They walked in silence to the apartment door where Keith pulled out his keys. Lance’s head was tumbling awkwardly over his guilt and regret and reservations that managed to stumble out before he could stop them. “I-I shouldn’t be spending the night on our first date. I didn’t mean—I’m not _insinuating_ that we _do anything_ but I can’t just invade your apartment before we’re even—”

Keith pushed open the door and pulled Lance in before he could start screaming and throwing a tantrum in the hallway. Lance broke off, clutching his hand over his nose as Keith turned on the light and closed the door, saying, “Lance, you aren’t _invading_ anything. I wouldn’t invite you up if I didn’t want you here, trust me.”

Lance’s panicked breathing subsided, and he nodded nervously, still unsure about where this was going. “I am only okay with anything you agree with. If you really don’t want to spend the night here, that’s fine and I understand,” Keith continued. “And you can spend the night here whenever you want, Lance. I mean it.”

“Really?” he squeaked out, “Even if I’m a mess and I just ruined a perfectly good first date?”

Keith laughed lightly, tugging Lance’s wrist away from his mouth so he could lean in and press his lips to Lance’s. “You didn’t ruin anything,” Keith whispered against his lips. Lance broke into a smile, and against the soreness of his shoulder, he lunged at Keith with his arms around Keith’s neck, laughing as he laid kisses across Keith’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TREAT MY BOY RIGHT, KEITH.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	8. a simple demonstration is all it takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Gore... I guess ?? near the end.

Lance woke up, fully clothed, in Keith’s apartment with a dozen missed phone calls from Pidge and Allura. His arm laid across Keith’s shoulders, and when he breathed, he felt Keith’s head on his chest lift with the air swelling in his lungs. Lance raised his phone up from where it was tangled in the sheets next to him, and squinted at all of the threatening texts from Pidge. His heart leapt in his throat, panicked at the thought of Pidge and Allura having been called out on Defender duty without him. He hadn’t _heard_ Kolivan’s ringtone at all, so he reassured himself that that wasn’t the case. 

He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he wasn't there to help Pidge and Allura out against Kogane.

Keith sighed into Lance’s shirt then, and sat up a little after glancing up and seeing Lance on his phone. “How long’ve you been awake?” Keith asked.

“Oh—not long. My roommate’s wondering where I am,” he confessed with a yawn. 

"You should call him.”

“Them,” he corrected.

“What?”

“Pidge is agender,” Lance explained. “So it’s ‘them’, not ‘him’."

“Oh,” Keith hummed, sitting up straighter, brows now knitted together in thought. He frowned for a moment before shaking his head and saying, “Sorry. Apologize in advance on my behalf.”

Lance giggled and agreed to do so. Keith pushed himself off the mattress, crawling to the edge so he could climb off and grab his phone. Lance twisted around to watch Keith scratch at his bedhead, studying his phone and flicking through notifications with a frown until he looked up and caught Lance staring. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just lookin’ at you,” Lance confessed, smiling childishly as Keith laughed and set his phone down. “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”

“Mi casa es su casa.”

“I literally hate your accent. I can’t believe you just said that to me,” Lance snorted, laughing hysterically as Keith burst out laughing and climbed back onto the bed to pin Lance to the mattress with his bodyweight. Lance hugged Keith tight to his chest and locked his legs around Keith’s.

After they settled down, Lance relaxed into the bed again, and Keith nudged his chin up on Lance’s chest. “This isn’t just a one-night thing, is it?” Keith murmured.

“Are you kidding? We didn’t even have _sex yet!_ ” Lance all but screamed just to annoy him. “I can’t leave _now!_ ”

“ _Lance!_ ”

Lance started wriggling around his hips and thrusting them until Keith got off of him and _literally_ rolled off the bed. He landed with a _thump!_ on the carpet, and Lance was laughing so hard that when he leaned over to point, he slipped on Keith’s silky sheets and toppled over with a scream.

Lance spent the morning in Keith’s kitchen making and eating mini pancakes with pure maple syrup. They were both still stuffed from dinner last night, so eating pancakes in small portions helped, and they took the leftovers out to the river where they waited at the end of one of the skinny, wobbly docks for a duck to come by. 

“I think the water’s poisonous to the ducks,” Keith said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighed, standing up and brushing off the pants Keith leant him. “I should probably get changed and head home.”

“Okay. Do you need…?”

“No. No, I’m fine walking,” he insisted, waving his hands at the offer. He stopped though, and clasped his hands in front of him as Keith stood up. “Thank you, though. I’m… really glad that you asked me out to dinner last night. I had a lot of fun. More fun than I’ve had in a while, honestly.”

Keith donned a calming, appreciative smile as Lance ducked his head and scratched at his bed hair. Before they could head inside, Keith stuffed his hands in his pockets and asked, “Would you want to go out with me again? And I’m not talking, like… a date or two. It’s kind of old-fashioned to ask, but… would you want to go steady with me?”

Lance thought he couldn’t smile any more than he already had. He beamed at Keith and exclaimed, “Hell yeah!” before lunging at Keith—

—Which was the last thing he should have done.

Not only was the dock narrow, but it was shaky, and he still underestimated his strength sometimes. He heard Keith’s guard shout from the patio as they both tripped over the edge of the dock and slammed into the _ice cold_ Milwaukee River. 

The chill leapt up around Lance like a goddamn iceberg hitting him on all sides. He emerged gasping, holding onto Keith as he was sure their clothes were dragging him down. It was a miracle that neither of them had their phones on them, so Lance’s main concern was _not touching anything underwater_ and getting the _fuck_ out of there. 

“H-Holy sh-shit,” Lance gasped, jolting for the dock and scrambling up before the guard could even jump the gate to the docks. 

The dock was shallow and close to the water, so he climbed on easily before turning and hoisting Keith up by his arm. Keith’s black hair was matted to the sides of his head and he kind of looked like a soaked cat. He seemed to be in shock as Lance lifted him to his feet without breaking a sweat, mainly nervous over what sort of reaction he’d get from _shoving the two of them into a possibly-poisonous river_.

“O-Oh man, I’m so s-sorry,” Lance stuttered past the chill wracking through him. The breeze was _cold as fuck_ , which didn’t help.

The guard pulled Lance back instantly, and swept her jacket around Keith’s shoulders as he stood there, wide-eyed, slowly coming back to himself. “Are you all right, sir?” she asked, and he nodded, dragging a hand through his hair and squeezing it out. Water dribbled on the dock.

“Keith—” Lance started, flinching when Keith looked at him from past his guard’s shoulder. “Y-You look like a wet cat. And a-also, if you want to take back the whole… going-steady thing… I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Keith burst out laughing then, and stammered out, “I-I was just thinking about the time Shiro b-bet me a hundred bucks that I wouldn’t jump in the river, and I wouldn’t even do that.” 

Lance smiled, tucking his hands around his mouth as Keith tugged his guard’s coat around him and suggested they get off the dock. They walked up the steps back to the boardwalk where Keith’s guard fell behind, and Lance could wrap his arm around Keith’s shoulder. “And no, I’m not taking it back,” Keith said, still laughing a little. “I just can’t believe you pushed me into the river. If I go blind, it’s your fault.”

“If I lose my hearing, I’m just gonna blame myself,” Lance said.

“If I have intestinal failure at the end of the week—blaming you.”

“If I’m diagnosed with cancer tomorrow—suing the city of Milwaukee.”

Keith snorted and threw his head back laughing as they walked, socks _sopping wet_ , into the apartment. Lance peeled his socks off and stuffed them into a plastic bag Keith pulled out and bundled his shirt into. Lance shed his clothes from Keith, however remorsefully—they were such nice quality!—and was left standing in his boxers in the middle of Keith’s apartment.

He was still giggly from having fallen in the river as they climbed the stairs so Keith could get him a spare pair of boxers for the walk home. As he followed Keith up, he tried to stop himself from staring at Keith’s bare legs and torso, and how… _skinny_ he was. He could see the ridges of Keith’s spine, and the ripples of his ribcage. Lance supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised—Keith’s clothes were tailored perfectly to fit his figure—but he hadn’t expected to see _bones_.

Lance changed in the bathroom and came out to stuff his wet clothes in the plastic bag. Keith was waiting for him in the kitchen, and before Lance left, he reeled Lance in for a hug and, for a brief moment, kissed him before saying, “You still haven’t given me your phone number.”

“ _Shit_. I’m just no good at this am I?” Lance asked, tipping his head against Keith’s as he pulled out his phone for Lance to put his number in. 

“You’re perfect at it,” Keith reassured him, kissing his temple and avoiding the river water in his hair. 

Lance left and apologized to the guard on his way out for causing such chaos. She waved him off and said, “It’s no problem. See you around, Mr. McClain.” 

Lance walked down the riverwalk before breaking off into the parking lot across from the Public Market before he realized: he never told Keith his last name. 

  


  


Keith dreaded the rest of his morning the second his phone alerted him to his meeting with his father’s leads. He knew he was bound to be reprimanded for not only threatening a guard, but running off and wrecking havoc in the middle of downtown Milwaukee. That was the _last_ thing Sendak, or anyone else involved in this shit show, wanted as their figurehead.

He left the apartment and started towards the usual meeting place that overlooked the boulevard cutting down to the view of Lake Michigan. It was in an area largely populated by college students, but on the edge of it, the nicer apartments were in view of the Third Ward. His guard who stayed with him through the night of his date accompanied him up the elevator. Erin Antok was a familiar face, and Sendak recently promoted her as far as Keith was aware from the paperwork he had sent in on her before Lance came over last night.

He turned to her, recalling something Lance once said, “I have a question for you.”

“Of course, sir.”

“It may be a bit forward.”

“That’s quite alright, sir.”

“Are you straight?” he asked. He was starting to get used to being blunt with everyone, and it was starting to become a game. He was amused to find Antok raise an eyebrow, but compel herself to remain stoic like all the other guards.

“Not entirely. I prefer the company of women, sir.”

“Good. Whenever Lance is over, I’d like you to be there,” he replied, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m not sure how much I trust my usual guards, and Sendak seems to trust you. Shiro has also informed me that the other guards have made crude comments about Lance, so I hope you abstain from doing the same.”

“Of course, sir. I would never—he seems like a nice guy.”

Keith held back his smile, though in truth, Antok’s comment did wonders to improve Keith’s mood when he had to deal with a meeting after such a wonderful morning. 

Before the elevator opened, Keith popped out a pill out of the case in his pocket a swallowed it whole. His guard didn’t blink twice at the action.

They exited the elevator and Antok walked him down the hallway to where a set of guards stood posted on either side of the apartment door. Upon seeing Keith, they unlocked the door and ushered him inside to the wide open foyer. Across the apartment where the curtains of the dining room were drawn closed, he recognized Shiro among his father’s men, and amidst their group, were several figureheads that he recognized from when he was younger and less inclined to participate in this business.

Prorok had a wide-set figure and stood beside Shiro on the other side of the table. Keith remembered liking him as best he could at the time because he helped Keith through a period in the summer where he was grounded and without internet. Prorok had slid a slip of paper with a nearby router’s name and password on it followed by his chicken scratch signature.

Across the table was a sharp-eyed woman by the name of Haggar. She wore her extravagantly long hair in a braid that reached her narrow hips. Keith remembered always despising her for the constant displeasure she gave his father. She tended to cause problems with him, and was a shame that the police hadn’t gotten to her yet. They already rooted out Keith’s ultimate favorite subject—Tamsin Thace. 

At the head of the table was Sendak, who moved to accommodate Keith. Sendak was Shiro’s father, otherwise known as Keith’s closest relative who had a knack for pissing him off. Keith remembered the way Shiro used to complain about him when they were in Pennsylvania together, and how Sendak used to block his funds when Shiro’s grades were too low. It ultimately prevented Shiro from eating regular meals until his grades were nothing less than perfect.

“Welcome back from _ruining_ our ambiguity,” Sendak commented.

“Your welcome,” Keith hummed as he settled at the head of the table and positioned his hands on his hips, standing along with the rest of them. “Why are you all standing? This isn’t church.”

Everyone pulled their chairs back and took a seat. Keith followed suit after them, his scowl enough cause anyone to turn away the moment he so much as spared a glance at them. “How have deliveries gone since we changed routes and exchange points for street transactions,” he demanded.

“As good as can be expected. But then again selling off the street won’t be our largest supply anymore. With how few buyers we can trust, we’ve only opened up to hardly a quarter of our previous sales,” Haggar explained. “And my baited sellers have been getting picked up by police and questioned and tested for power of any kind. They’ve been trailing them like before.”

“We can’t depend on street trade at this point,” Keith said. “Not unless we expand our—”

“We can’t risk introducing new cliental,” Prorok said. “Not without expecting the police to plant a dozen worms into our industry.”

“Not unless we pick up the buyers in that area,” he insisted. “We take over other sectors that withstood my father’s influence, and bring their cliental over to our side. The quality of the power we supply won’t matter to them because… well, clearly.” The only thing holding his father back from taking over other sections wasn’t a matter of quality, but rather the people who defended the area. They happened to be packed full of powers that were not only rare—and therefore difficult to predict—but also strong enough to maintain the integrity of their cliental. Buyers did as their sellers were told out of fear, and in some cases, that was what Keith would need at this point. 

“We convince the powered that work for Zarkon to join our side,” he said. 

“And what makes you think that they’ll ever join your side,” Sendak asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest as if this was the one question Keith could never answer.

Rather than answer verbally, Keith lifted his hands onto the table and clasped them together, drawing forth the shade from the curtains they drew over the windows. He left the light untouched, so they could each see the blackness that enveloped them all from behind. Everyone who joined him at the table was suddenly cloaked around the throats, and yanked against the backs of their chairs. Keith kept his eyes on Sendak to avoid seeing Shiro’s reaction.

“We can all agree that my powers are far superior than Father’s,” he said, and relaxed the tension in the tendrils holding them all to their chairs. “And I have no intention of letting the Defenders who killed him off so easily.”

The shadows retreated. The guards came into focus again; the ones who were never stationed with him or Ko these past two weeks panicked at the sight, and the fact that their employers were on the other end of the impassible black wall Keith tossed up. 

Keith spared a glance at Shiro, who kept his hands on his lap as he appeared to have done the whole time. Several of the others clasped their hands to their throats as silence fell over the table. Keith took to picking at the slick waxed surface of the wood table as he waited for everyone to gather their bearings. 

In the end, he cleared his throat quietly and said, “I’m not in the mood to have my power questioned. Let’s not make this a regular occurrence.”

No one said anything, so he sighed and moaned internally, _Well that’s_ one _way to make the situation awkward_. He was never good at group conversation anyway, especially when he was supposed to be the alpha of the group. He had a lot of work to do in that department, considering he barely spent five minutes in the room and Sendak was already questioning his authority. 

“Well isn’t this just a lovely dinner party,” Keith sighed. “If I wanted to sit around in silence I would have stayed at my house. At least _there_ I’d have music to listen to. Progress on supplying our regular market? Any complaints, dilemmas…?”

“There were several complaints on the delay, but most seem to be aware of the… passing of our previous head,” Prorok said. “I personally went to reassure several customers and convince them to stay with us regardless of the change in leadership without the need of force.”

“Was force used on any other occasions then?” he asked, wary of the indication that suggested so.

“One trade route _was_ compromised out in West Allis—a distant supporter who thought we were weak enough to hand over the supplies with the threat of handing _us_ over to the police. They don’t know our faces, though, let alone our names, and my men were forced to subdue them.”

Keith usual sat around listening to the news on the television, and Shiro _had_ mentioned a bit of a dilemma in West Allis the day after they got their supply back. Keith kept an unnerving, solitary stare trained on Prorok until he was finished talking, remembering how his father used to stare at him as he explained his reason for attacking a kid who sat across from him at lunch in middle school. He thought he was going to die through every second of it.

“Subdue them how,” Keith prompted. 

“One of my men ran over the husband who was firing a rifle at the truck. He got out of there before the police showed up, and had the truck demolished and license plates melted down.”

“… Your man,” Keith repeated.

Prorok blinked at Keith, looking away momentarily to agree. “Yes, my man. I have him under surveillance until you decide what to do with him.”

“I can deal with him later,” Keith sighed, mentally writing it off as a minor matter to attend to. “In terms of publicity on everything, it seems we can contain my identity to Ko’s son. Refer to me only as “Kogane” or “sir” to keep matters simple. My real name is never to be released—even if you _do_ know it.”

The members at the table nodded. It wasn’t likely that any of them knew that he never carried his father’s last name since the early portion of his childhood was kept a secret by his mother. She hadn’t expected his father to swoop in and claim Keith as his own. He never had Keith’s name legally changed, and Keith rarely saw his mother to make his legal last name meaningful.

“I don’t plan on changing anything in terms of my father’s previously established _positions_ ,” he said, “but I can’t change the fact that I wasn’t raised with the hope of taking over his business. If you happen to step out of line, disrespect me, _question me_ in any way bordering on a _threat_ —I won’t think twice about repeating my father’s punishments. Though, I imagine it will be far more painful considering the power shift.”

He flexed his fingers over the table, aware that Haggar’s eyes were trained on them, as if his hands gave any sort of warning to what the shadows planned to do next. 

“I’m not yet qualified to lead the main part of these meetings,” he continued. “I appreciate your patience with me, so until I fully familiarize myself with the dynamics of my father’s industry—Sendak. You can take over meetings until I catch up on specifics.”

He didn’t know the names for checkpoints, or the slang that his father was so familiar with. Listening to Sendak conduct the meeting was like delving into new, foreign territory. He’d have to learn the language or risk Sendak attempting to take over completely. He didn’t trust his chances around Shiro’s father, considering where Shiro’s powers came from anyways.

Though—the second generation of a power was always more powerful than the last. Third generations were invisible, but Keith never flexed his powers as much as he did fighting the Defenders. After the third generation, well… the powers tended to taper out. Keith never planned on having children anyways, so they weren’t likely to have the pressure of living up to his power legacy.

Keith was familiar with the way they shifted their distributors across the city, and how, because of the complications with retrieving the supplies, the cost of power was forced to increase slightly to accommodate for the fact that several of their men died, several of their people were in custody, and there was a suicide to account for that happened shortly after Keith’s father was executed. 

Keith left the meeting before the rest of them, and dismissed Shiro with him. Sendak, who supplied the guards for Keith, didn’t find it necessary for his son to also be tailed, so they left with in just the small trio made by Keith’s guard. They stood in silence on the lift down to the parking garage as Keith incessantly reviewed everything in his head. He was never allowed to attend the meetings that brought together different segments of his father’s industry, and Prorok helped slightly beforehand with the matter of _what the hell to talk about_. What mattered, what didn’t. What Haggar and Sendak were expecting. 

Shiro was never high enough in the ranks to attend the meetings unless he happened to be guarding them. Before Keith came, Shiro was stuck in the perpetual cycle of being under his father’s responsibility as a guard and—on several occasions—a hitman. As far as Keith knew, Father wasn’t terribly inclined to kill unless entirely necessary, and if that was the case, then he did it under his own terms if they were still in the city. Otherwise, Keith recalled an occasion where Shiro was flown out to London to take care of a stray that needed to be put down. He was probably nineteen years old, and not likely to be marked off by flight security as a killer.

“You know, my father’s going to be pissed about that threat,” Shiro remarked, and Keith laughed at the amusement in his voice. 

“Good. Because I meant it,” he said. 

Shiro threw his head back and laughed as Antok led them out into the parking garage. They were hardly three steps in when Keith started at the abrupt stop Antok made on the pavement. She held a hand back to Keith, just a second before he heard the warning sign.

A gun.

Keith let go of the rush in his veins, the power he ingested before going to the meeting. He could feel it sitting in the pit of his stomach waiting to be released, and the instant it did, the entire parking garage went dark under his falling hands. The gun went off, and as Keith pushed a ripple of solidity through the garage, he felt around the cars, found the bullet lodged in the abyss, and tracked the frozen figure across the pavement. 

Just one.

Keith flew his hands together and crushed his shadows into the cemented figure he dragged out into the open. He could see Antok flinch out of the corner of his eye as he stepped forward, fists clenched, and decided, _Now is a perfect time for a demonstration_.

The solidified blackness evaporated, turning to a mist that followed the man as he collapsed to his knees. Keith didn’t recognize his face, but as the shadows collected through the orifices in his face, he knew Shiro recognized the uniform just as well as Keith did. 

The gaseous cloud of shadows disappeared through the man’s gaping mouth, and a second later, pockmarks bloomed on his cheeks and speckled across his neck and carved holes through the fabric of his shirt when Keith twisted his hands. The man’s insides hardened like he was creating a cast for his esophagus down to his stomach and intestines. Keith branched his fingers out, and expanded them like pipes through the man’s pores where, the second they escaped, the shadows retreated under the light overhead. 

Blood trickled out of the spots across his face as he collapsed like a dead fish against the dock. It soaked through his guard uniform and out through the sleeves of his coat, collecting around his motionless fingers.

Keith flicked out his hands and stretched his arms over his head. At that point, the elevator behind them opened, and Antok visibly jumped before kicking back into gear and hurrying over to Keith. She was about to guide Keith to the car, but he turned to where the three others from the meeting were exiting the elevator with their guards. 

“Clean this up,” Keith order, pointing to the corpse before gesturing to Shiro to hurry along.

He and Shiro walked off to their car and climbed into the backseat so Antok could get them the fuck out of there. Keith rubbed his thumb over his brow, as if trying to massage the stress away. They drove in silence until they climbed out onto the street and reached the first stoplight.

Shiro turned to Keith and said, “Whoever sent that assassin—even if it _is_ my father—I just want you to know that I won’t hold a grudge over you.”

Keith thanked him quietly and turned to face the window. He was wondering whether or not Shiro would give him his permission to kill Sendak, and, surprisingly, he wasn’t relieved to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what compelled me to make Sendak Shiro's father. I don't think I've heard of that done before ?? so idk
> 
> Also, setting up chapters like this never fail to remind me of Dorian from The Night Angels Trilogy. That man's character arc went CRAZY halfway through from, like, coolest, craziest guy around to YUCK WHAT IS HE DOING. The whole idea of Keith being sweet on Lance and then killing people when he's not with Lance just... gets me. Psychopath Keith can step on me ANY TIME.
> 
> Fight me on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	9. one-sided sexual tension

Lance felt guilty about how he simply couldn’t stop himself from gazing fondly at Hunk from across the street. His flower shop claimed part of the sidewalk, so sometimes he came out of the Public Market to doll up the bouquets and just make Lance’s day. He felt guilty that, after spending hours debating it, his relationship with Keith was just a matter of convincing himself that he didn’t need Hunk. Hunk wasn’t Keith, and Keith certainly wasn’t Hunk. 

He felt guilty for thinking, _How am I allowed to have this much fun with someone who wasn’t Hunk?_

It was ridiculous to think that Lance was “saving himself” for Hunk, because he was already long-gone in that department. But… something about caving in just seemed like the easy way out. Shouldn’t he be pining more? Shouldn’t he spend at least a month leading Keith on before deciding Hunk was never going to make the first move?

Lance started going with Hunk to the gym more frequently because Hunk’s usual gym partner was still on vacation for the week. Pretending to be weak was a fun pastime, Lance decided, because then Hunk would help him on the bench press and ease the weight of it over his chest. And Lance would just _stare dreamily_ into Hunk’s focused brown eyes and think, _Fuck, I want him on top of me EVERY GODDAMN DAY_.

Keith was still a frequent customer at Alterra, and he’d sit at the counter closest to Lance so they could talk from the wedge between the wall and the espresso machine. He would come in late so that at the end of Lance’s shift, he could walk Lance wherever he wanted to go.

It was impossible for Lance to consider bringing Keith to his apartment. He wondered that if Keith knew how far he walked every afternoon and evening, Keith would suddenly be more inclined to drive him home after work. That just seemed excessive and unnecessary, so Lance decided that he didn’t have to show Keith his apartment if he didn’t want to. Besides, there was always the matter of dealing with Pidge and Beast during those trying times.

“I’ve noticed that you and that customer at Alterra talk a lot,” Hunk commented as Lance was zoning out during their cardio workout on the treadmills. “Are you two thinking about dating or something?”

Lance scoffed comically and sputtered for a moment before blurting out, “What? No. That’s crazy.” _You. Fucking. Idiot_. He brushed away the voice in his head that was now screaming and bashing its forehead against an invisible wall.

“Oh. Well, he seems like a nice guy,” Hunk continued between hard breaths. If Lance closed his eyes—which he did on multiple occasions—and zoned out, he could just _imagine_ Hunk’s out-of-breath voice and what he must sound like during sex…

“Why do you ask?” Lance said, snapping his eyes open and looking over at where Hunk slowed his treadmill and was now walking.

“I mean—it’s just that I see him there _all the time_. Like, more frequently than _I_ go. And Coran and I have an awesome understanding, so like, I get discounts and stuff. But—”

“I’m under the impression that Keith has a lot of money to begin with,” Lance said, shaking his head. “So I don’t think that’s a problem for him.”

“Yeah, well—either way people don’t just go to a coffee shop every day you work unless they _like_ you,” Hunk said, and Lance’s heart fluttered in his chest, thinking about how Hunk always came in when he was working—Oh, but they were talking about Keith.

So working out with Hunk was just like any other day—full of one-sided sexual tension, with a side dish of _sexual fantasies_ on Lance’s part. He really shouldn’t have been allowed to work out with Hunk, given the gutter in which his brain resided. Lance left the place feeling alive and guilty all at the same time, but what else was new? 

He and Hunk took quick showers in the locker room, and Lance hurriedly changed because he knew that if he had to change in the same vicinity as Hunk, there would be _major_ problems with his dick that he just couldn’t control. So he called out to Hunk to let him know that he’d be waiting outside before heading out of the locker room and barely surviving just that brief, cloudy-glass image of Hunk on the other side of the door _shirtless_ and _pants-less_.

Lance half-swooned outside of the locker room, muttering, “Sweet baby Jesus save me.” He crossed himself before gathering his self-control out of the trash he left it in. 

He lounged on a bench outside of the gym, cradling his only athletic bag that he used to use in training. His Ma bought it for him when he was in high school as a present for passing the entry exam for the program. All through high school he and his peers were subjected to mandatory state testing that would later be accumulated and reviewed when the results of their power testing came back. They were given such small snippets of power to gradually become accustomed to, and Lance remembered how his power sparked his junior year of high school regardless of how little ammunition the nurses gave them. Compared to the patches Lance wore now, Lance really shouldn’t have been able to lift a car, but he did and was suspended for two days because of it.

He giggled at the memory of it, and how Pidge taunted him about it when word got around the squadrons in the training bootcamp. She and the other tech-wizards teased him until he snapped and threw a kayak at them. He was, yet again, suspended for it—but that was put on his permanent record and was perhaps the first thing any of his employers would see. It was the first thing Kolivan brought up when reviewing his records during an interview several years ago.

Kolivan had him keep his uniform in his athletic bag so that when night came and they were on duty, Lance would just toss his regular clothes into it and toss it in the back of Kolivan’s car. 

Lance bounced his leg up and down as he waited. He stared across the street just as a motorcycle flew up to the opposite curb. Lance nearly ignored it’s roaring engine because Hunk was calling out behind him, “Hey! I finished up—you ready to go?” 

He half-turned to Hunk before doubling back and getting to his feet at the sight of _that motorcycle helmet_. His breathing hitched in a panic of _Why would someone where a helmet like that if_ —

It had that angled, reptilian structure to it with a flawless black surface, and Lance wouldn’t have panicked at all had the man not turned his attention towards Hunk and Lance at that very moment.

Lance yelped and grabbed Hunk by the arm. “L-Let’s get protein shakes! On me!”

“What? Okay, sounds good to me,” Hunk laughed, turning on his heels as Lance did a complete U-turn back to the gym doors. 

Once inside, Lance twisted around to see if the motorcyclist was still looking at them. He tried to convince himself that it was just a coincidence, and that plenty of people had helmets shaped like the head of the goddamn leather monster in _American Horror Story_.

“You okay?” Hunk asked, and Lance blurted out before Hunk could even finish, “Peachy! What are you gonna get?”

He tapped his foot impatiently as they waited in line at the smoothie bar in the gym lobby. Lance’s brain was working a mile per hour, thinking about how it was already getting dark, and he really needed to call Pidge, even if it _was_ just a hunch. He considered the state of Allura’s powers, which she hardly seemed to be concerned about now that she was spending every goddamn second of her free time with Keith’s cousin. Lance fretted over involving Allura when she wasn’t at a hundred percent, but he supposed anything was better than just _him_ going up against _Kogane again_.

_Why is he there every time Hunk comes by?_ Lance asked himself as he watched Hunk tap his chin over the choices on the board before deciding on a peanut butter chocolate protein shake. Lance got himself a chocolate shake, already preparing to dump it in the trash since he couldn’t fathom stomaching anything now.

They were just about to leave again when Lance snapped his fingers, cursing, “ _Shit_. I forgot my house key in my locker.”

“Let’s head back and—”

“No, no—you go ahead. It’s getting dark anyways and I live closer anyways.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! Yeah, positive. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later?” he asked hopefully, perhaps more for his own sake than Hunk’s. 

“Of course! See you tomorrow, Lance!” Hunk saluted him before marching off towards the exit. Lance turned on his heels and booked it around the corner back to the nearest bathroom.

He was tearing out his uniform before he even got to the locker room. He had Pidge on speaker exclaiming, “At the gym! Kogane! Now!”

“Shit. You’re just a bad-guy magnet, aren’t you?”

“No time for your _sass_ , Gunderson!” he hissed, jumping out of his shorts and yanking on his uniform pant legs. “Get the fuck over here _ASAP_. And also, if Allura isn’t too _busy_ , get her too!”

Lance hung up before they could prattle on about Lance’s bad luck. He plucked out his septum piercing and stuffed it in the bag. He shoved his head through the hole of his shirt with a loud, “ _FUCK THIS_!” that passerbys probably heard outside of the bathroom before he ever burst through the door after having thrown his athletic bag into a random open locker. 

He skidded across the floor in the padded soles of his uniform, sprinting to the door and squeezing past the automatic bullshit that made prying open the door a real effort. He turned down the street where he knew Hunk usually went, his panic rising like bile in his throat when he couldn’t find Hunk anywhere in sight. Every glance down an alleyway was an expectation to find that beautiful man’s body unconscious against the brick. Ever corner turn sent Lance’s heart on fire, terrified to find yet another web of shadows encasing Hunk against a wall. 

He followed the purr of the motorcycle as it rose up in his ears, until he found the same motorcyclist idling on the curb, eyes trained on the man far ahead on the sidewalk. _Hunk_. Relief of finding Hunk untouched nearly brought Lance to his knees, but he wasn’t out of harm’s way yet.

Lance thought about how much he regretted letting Kolivan keep his bow locked up in the agency building. He was just far enough to flawlessly land a hit through the back of Kogane’s neck, so he reached for the nearest bike lock pipe and wrenched it out of the sidewalk. 

He bent it without thinking twice, straightening it so he could chuck it like a spear down the street. He was never allowed to play football in high school because even the samplings of power provided to the students were enough to drill the ball and land craters in the grass. His parents never entertained the idea of using power themselves—they viewed it almost to the extreme of cocaine or heroine, but certainly not enough to prevent Lance and his siblings from going to schools that partnered with power agencies like the one Kolivan represented in the city of Milwaukee.

But even with his strength and his accuracy with a bow, spear-throwing was a different story. 

The makeshift spear scraped sparks against the concrete and metal where it nicked the side of Kogane’s motorcycle, and shrieked across the ground. Lance was already tearing out another bike stand when Kogane turned and leapt off the bike, laughter bubbling through his helmet speakers.

“You just don’t know how to quit,” he sneered at Lance. “And at _dusk too_. Seems like I know just where to find you.”

“Whatever beef you have with me shouldn’t involve threatening citizens,” Lance remarked, surprised by how calm he sounded considering all his anxiety was being bent and twisted around the U-shaped bike post. He twisted it straight and pried the end into a spike.

“Every time I do, you’re right around the corner,” the man replied, throwing his arms out to his sides and lifting them up. 

Lance expected his stupidity to backfire, but he just didn’t expect it to lift him up into the air in a matter of seconds. He felt something twist around his feet and harden like concrete bricks strapped to his ankles, and fling him towards a break in two buildings. He went airborne, and a second later, he crashed into the wall, and cried out as he fell against the shoulder where the bullet wound scar was still inflamed. Kolivan looked at him that morning to ensure that everything was as good as could be expected, especially when Allura was doing minor repairs here and there to get a feel for her powers again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he seethed as he tried to lift himself off the ground and failed. 

“I’ve figured it out with what makes you so difficult,” his voice started behind Lance, drawing closer as Lance shoved himself to his knees, ignoring the fiery pain in his arm. He turned to glower at Kogane, and was faced with the man holding two hands up. “You can always push yourself out if you have control over your arms. Slippery little thing, aren’t you?”

His hands were jerked into the air, twisting his shoulders back. He cried out, panting with the effort to keep himself from screaming as something likely tore around the bullet wound. The back of his head hit the bricks, and as he tried to heave himself out with his good arm, Kogane lifted his fists up and twisted them like he was preparing to crack a branch in two.

Lance felt something force its way down his throat even as he tried to cough it up. His stomach jolted and tried to vomit the foreign object up, but it was like he was being gutted from the inside out. His eyes watered as he watched Kogane step into view, staring down at him with his fists clenched—

“ _Blue!_ ”

The solid object clogging his airway evaporated, and it felt like every last bit of air in his body expelled with it. He slouched forward, wheezing and coughing just as streaks of green lifted the weight on his hands, and let him fall forward.

“Get away from him!” Pidge screamed, sending a jolt of electricity through the air, illuminating the dark patches in the alley, and breaking apart the bubble Kogane put Lance in. The shadows spiraled up, and Lance became aware of how much time had passed, and how the sun was set and the sky was orange with the glow of the city. The edifice of black clouds evaporated as soon as they reached the tops of the buildings.

Lance stayed on the ground, throat raspy and sore and collecting saliva by the minute. Pidge flew forward and heaved Lance up into a sitting position where he tried to control his breathing, and couldn’t. He hadn’t felt anything like that before, and couldn’t get the sensation out of his stomach—

He turned to the side and viciously threw up the contents of his stomach onto the concrete. Pidge rubbed their hand over his back and reassured him that Kolivan was on his way, but Lance couldn’t stop dry-heaving even after all the food, the shake, and the bile was out of his stomach. His eyes watered and he tried to regain his breath as Pidge sat him back against the brick, and rubbed the top of his head, as if soothing his hair away from his forehead even though it was covered by the uniform. 

“That fucker’s gonna pay, I promise,” Pidge told him.

He choked again and coughed, covering his mouth as it turned into a sob. “I-I trust you,” he tried to laugh, but couldn’t.

  


  


“You either prioritize your team, or I _will_ have you replaced. Do you understand me?” Kolivan was shouting outside of Lance’s hospital room, and he tucked his hands under his chin as he heard Allura sob out, “I know—I will—I promise—I won’t let it happen again, I swear it.”

“You need to stop letting him go in head-first without one or both of you there with him. Understood?” he ordered of Pidge and Allura, who were most likely mortified by Kolivan’s outburst. Their rep rarely lost control like this, but then again, none of them had brushed death as close as Lance had.

“Understood, sir,” Pidge replied.

Lance heard his phone buzzing in his athletic bag across the room, so he turned his head away from it and sighed, staring bleary-eyed out of the hospital room window. It was just a view of the building across the street, nothing fancy, but it was better than the sterile white-and-blue monotony of this room. He heard the door open, and glanced over at where Pidge meandered in, followed closely by a pale, red-eyed Allura.

“I’m real sorry, Lance,” Allura murmured.

“Kolivan was right,” he sighed, voice still hoarse from the attack. “I shouldn’t have gone in guns blazing or whatever. I shoulda waited for you guys.”

“Hunk was in danger though—I don’t blame you,” Pidge said. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“And Kolivan said my powers are at ninety, so we can get back into our regular routine once you’re feeling better,” Allura said. “We’ll get to do the usual crime-fighting you love so much.”

Lance smiled at her, tipping his head against the pillows as he agreed. 

“What’s the doc say about your shoulder?” Pidge asked, prodding at it until he swatted her away.

“Nothing Allura can’t fix now. It got dislocated, so just a bit of inflammation now,” he explained, and beamed encouragingly at Allura. He sat up straighter and said, “You wanna try it out?”

She nodded her head, meekly, and stepped forward. She took a seat on the edge of his bed and cupped her hands over his shoulder. Pidge leaned in to see her work, though it wasn’t exactly a huge show like some powers made it out to be. Her hands turned gentle and cool, like the breeze of the lake on a hot summer day, and she ghosted them over his skin, rotating them until Lance let out a sigh of relief when he just barely grazed the sensation of no pain at all. He forgot what that felt like, before the bullet wound, anyways.

“Does that feel better?” she asked, still working.

“ _Much_ better,” he moaned, momentarily distracted by the sound of his phone ringing again. “Pidge, could you grab that?”

“Hell yeah I can. For twenty bucks.”

“I just came back from the dead. You can have my life.”

“Not worth twenty bucks, but I’ll take it,” they replied, and Lance giggled before he dissolved into a coughing fit. Allura moved her hand gently to his chest where the heat scratched its way up from his lungs.

Pidge answered the phone. “Hello, this is Lance’s secretary how can I help you? Just kidding this is Pidge, what do you want.”

“Just hand it over,” Lance whined.

“You were just choking, I wasn’t sure if you could answer,” they said, not even bothering to pull the phone away. Lance snapped his fingers, gesturing for her to bring it over. Allura’s hands were on his chest just long enough to dispel the discomfort in his chest.

“You were choking?” It was Keith, and Lance laughed at the amount of concern in his voice. “Shiro said Allura was on the way to the hospital to check up on you. What happened?”

“I ate spicy chicken and choked because Pidge said something funny. I had a brush with Death and we shook hands and went our separate ways. It was great,” Lance said, grinning as Pidge snorted from where they were now sitting crosslegged at his feet. “How are you? How was your day?”

“Are you really at the hospital? I didn’t know you could be admitted for choking on spicy chicken.”

“I’m special, what can I say?” he laughed. “But yeah. In the hospital. Not for too long though because I have a hot nurse taking care of me.”

“Lance, please,” Allura muttered. 

“Just kidding, it’s Allura,” Lance reassured.

“I’m coming to get you—I have friends with healing powers that could help you—”

“Keith, it’s fine, really,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got it covered. And I’m leaving soon anyways, so it’s not a big deal. I’m just at St. Mary’s—”

“Does Pidge not know the Heimlich or something?” Keith argued into the phone, and Lance heard him attempt to muffle it as he told someone, “We’re going to St. Mary’s Hospital—Drive.”

“Oh my God, Keith. You’re so dramatic, I love it,” Lance cackled, which ultimately ruined Allura’s work because he was overcome with an accidental coughing fit. 

Given that there was no way for Lance to dissuade his boyfriend, Keith showed up to the hospital around the time Lance was at the counter getting discharged. Kolivan helped with the paperwork considering the entire ordeal was covered by the agency. Even if the pay wasn’t extravagant by any means, he had excellent healthcare perks because of it, which came in handy for situations such as this when Pidge didn’t know what else to do aside from call an ambulance since Kolivan could only accurately care for surface wounds.

They were in view of the foyer, and so Pidge poked Lance in the side and said, “Goth boyfriend alert.”

“He is not _goth_ ,” Lance whined.

They gave him a droll stare, and from over their head, Lance saw Keith making a beeline for him. At that same moment, Kolivan patted Lance on his shoulder and said, “You’re set to go. I’m guessing you don’t need a ride.”

“No. Keith can drive me,” he said. “Thanks for helping out.”

“Anytime,” Kolivan said, and gave Pidge and Allura a stark look before leaving them to it. Keith glanced at him, footsteps slowing before he stopped, looked at Lance, and pointed after Kolivan. 

“Is that—?” he started, and halted until Kolivan was out of earshot. Lance walked up to him and clasped onto his hands. “Is that Avonaco Kolivan? That famous powered restorer?” 

Lance hummed and said, “He’s my uncle. Isn’t he cool? I think his braid is cool.”

“How are you related to—?” 

“Is this the famous brooding Keith?” Pidge blurted out, sidling up next to Lance. They tipped up their glasses and held out a hand to Keith. “I’m Pidge. Lance’s roommate.”

Lance was suddenly made aware of the fact that Keith was wearing perhaps the laziest outfit Lance ever saw on him just based on every time he came into Alterra, and their first day, and even the following morning. He was in the classic, double-white-stripes Adidas sweatpants and a godawful Brewers t-shirt that really was on its last leg, considering the logo was barely recognizable—he probably picked it up from one of the t-shirt guns when he was in _middle school_. Lance was drawn to notice this because Keith suddenly seemed struck by the fact that he was meeting Lance’s roommate for the first time.

“O-Oh,” he blurted out, quickly taking Pidge’s hand and giving it a shake. “Lance told me so much about you. Nice to finally meet you.”

“I want to see your slick penthouse,” they said.

Lance squeaked and slapped his hand in front of their face, shoving them out of Keith’s view. “ _Pidge!_ We don’t ask those sorts of questions!”

Allura giggled from behind them, and squeaked when she drew attention to herself. “Might as well introduce myself! We already sort of met, but I’m Allura, Lance’s friend and sort-of manager at Alterra,” she blurted out, shaking Keith’s hand next. “Also, I suppose I should mention that I’m seeing your cousin. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me at all…?”

“He has,” Keith laughed. “He flaunts your love bites around my apartment.”

Lance snorted and Pidge actually screamed and flung themself at Lance laughing their ass off. They slapped their hand over at Keith, who was surprised by how intense their reaction was. Allura turned pink and cried out, “Sh-Shut up! You two are so immature!”

Their laughter was echoing around the lobby of the hospital, and Pidge was slapping Keith on the back and brushing tears out from under their eyes. Lance suggested they step outside where the pitch black night was musty with the mist of an oncoming storm. They collected themselves long enough for Keith to say, “But in all seriousness—I think Shiro really likes you. And I’m glad he’s with someone like you. He’s had some _really_ shitty girlfriends in the past.”

“So I’ve been told,” she laughed. “I promise I’m not the sort of girl to drive her car into his living room.”

“That really happened?” Pidge snorted, turning her wide, brown eyes onto Keith. Keith nodded, folding his arms over his chest as he laughed. “ _How?_ What’d he do about the living room?”

“Fixed it and moved,” he said. “I wasn’t around at the time, but apparently the girl wouldn’t stop dropping by. So he just moved and never said anything.”

They went onto a massive tirade about Shiro’s past exes. They stood out under the light of the overhang, cloaked by the soft, orange edges of the night rising up around lamp posts. Lance felt that gentle orange haze like a blanket around his chest because his pain was gone, and he was thrilled that Pidge took to Keith so well. He was surprised by how Keith coped with their small group, and how he was able to tell his stories in that same, enticing voice he used with Lance out on the rooftop. 

That night had the muted hum of bugs clustering against tungsten lightbulbs. Their smiles were in the pink of their rounded cheeks, and Lance tipped his head to Keith’s shoulder as he talked about Shiro’s first girlfriend, who went to a private school alternate their own. It was around the time Shiro grew his first full beard, and when he broke up with the girl, she picked his dorm lock and got to shaving half of it before he woke up, cut himself on the razor, and chased her out of the room.

Eventually, Keith managed to wrap up their conversation by saying, “But if any of you want to visit my apartment at any time, I’d be happy to make dinner or something. I don’t exactly have a _home theatre_ , but movie night is always an option.”

“I didn’t know twenty-three-year-olds still host movie nights,” Pidge murmured, sleepy against Lance’s arm. “I thought that faded away at the age of twenty.”

“We have movie nights all the time,” Lance argued.

“Yes, but you’re perpetually a toddler at heart,” they said, and Lance shrugged. He couldn’t argue with that. “You also have the attention span of a toddler. You always fall asleep.”

“You do?” Keith laughed, causing Lance to blush from the embarrassment of his movie-induced narcoleptic tendencies. “That’s adorable. We have to watch a movie together now. How about on Friday?”

“Sounds good to me! My summer courses wrap up on Thursday so I’m ready to get lit,” Pidge hollered, throwing their arms up with a whoop that Allura immediately canceled out by throwing their arms back down.

“We are not ‘getting lit’,” she said. “And I’ll ask Shiro what he’s up to, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Keith said, pushing himself off the bench and reaching for Lance’s hand. “I think it’s time for me to go. Pidge, do you want me to drop you off too?”

“Oh! Um—” They looked to Lance, who agreed instantly. One thing the two of them both agreed on, if only as a silent, invisible contract that they both signed when listing their names on the lease, was that no one would know where they lived aside from Allura and Kolivan. Their parents vaguely knew—had visited perhaps once or twice before—but they couldn’t risk anyone tracking them down. With Lance’s luck at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if their apartment was getting ransacked around the time his Ma decided to drop off some sweets.

“I… was actually going to get a ride from Allura. Because you drove Pidge here, right?” Lance asked Allura, who nodded even though that hadn’t been the plan at all. Lance wasn’t quite sure _what_ the plan was. Their communication skills weren’t at their greatest those days.

Keith agreed to it as Lance stood up. He enveloped Lance in his arms, and even though they were the same height, and generally the same size… Lance felt the comfort of being hugged like the warm embrace of a heated blanket basking by a fire. As they hugged, Keith said, “I hope you feel better. When are you free next?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Lance hummed sleepily.

“Would you want to go out tomorrow morning? It’ll be casual—you could go in your pajamas if you wanted,” he said, and Lance agreed to it, promising that he’d show up at Keith’s apartment as soon as he was able—considering the time of night he ended up _actually_ leaving the hospital with Allura and Pidge.

Allura parked her crappy white car in the hospital parking garage across the street. The doors tended to stick, and so Lance wrenched open the passenger door for Pidge before he climbed into the back and collapsed there. There was a sleepy, orange hue to the garage as Allura pulled out onto the street. The tires audibly clunked over the speed bumps, and as she rolled off onto the street. Pidge was in charge of the tunes, so they listened to chill music as street lights flickered by. If Lance unfocused his eyes, they all showed up in bokeh circles, and bleary stripes cutting over Allura and Pidge, and the backs of their seats.

“Keith seems nice,” Allura said, glancing briefly back at where Lance’s legs were half-off the seat.

“Hm,” he murmured, blinking at Pidge as they twisted around to study him. “He _is_ nice.”

“What about Hunk though? I mean, you keep saving Hunk’s ass.”

“His ass deserves to be saved. He’s so selfless and hot,” Lance moaned miserably. “Why does Kogane have to pine after Hunk too? Even bad guys love Hunk. You can’t help but love him.”

Allura hummed in agreement. The first time Hunk started coming into Alterra on a semi-frequent basis—which was _ages_ ago—Allura was actually the one who pointed Hunk out to Lance. Lance found it funny because he knew Allura was never really into black guys, despite being black herself—so he wasn’t entirely surprised that Shiro was exactly her type. But Hunk was, like, a modern _god_ that couldn’t be ignored or discriminated against. The man _volunteered at nursing homes_ and probably took in stray dogs and cats on a biweekly basis. He was pure and wholesome and Allura used to sigh over him before determining that Hunk was probably gay. A shame for her, but a plus for Lance.

The conversation dulled as Allura pulled up next to the apartment and exited the car with Pidge and Lance. She walked them up to the front door where Pidge forcefully unlocked it, and then the door to their flat. They had to kick it open because it jammed a little, but even before they opened it, all three of them could hear the Beast moaning in the bathroom. They moved the Beast’s water and food in there, along with the litter box, so Pidge whined, “ _God,_ what _now?_ ”

Allura murmured her concern under her breath before saying, “But Lance—are you sure you’ll be okay? Do you want me to stay the night in case something flares up?”

“I’m fine. I just feel like I’m bloated is all,” he confessed, clutching a hand over his stomach. “Even though… I threw up everything _in_ my tum tum…”

Pidge wandered to the hallway, preparing to release the Beast as Allura hugged Lance. The two of them swayed around the room, and he felt Allura swallow painfully before clearing her throat and saying, “Honestly, I think I might—”

They both flinched at the sound of Pidge shrieking, and what sounded like horror, turned to stunned delight. “Holy _shit!_ Guys, get in here!” they screamed, feet prancing on the wood flooring as Allura hurried ahead of Lance to the bathroom—the only light on in the apartment. Lance came within view of it, and started to hear a bizarre, slightly alarming sound. 

Was that… the Beast _purring?_

Allura squeaked, “She was angry because she was pregnant! That poor thing…”

Lance turned pale as he looked into the bathroom, and couldn’t even count the number of fluff balls on the ground because they all blended together in a patchwork of white, grey, and black. The Beast sat glaring up at them, slightly skinnier now that her long fur wasn’t covering up the fact that she was obese for reasons other than being fed too many treats. Lance looked at Pidge, who smiled up at him until he said, “How are we gonna afford half a dozen cats?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beast being pregnant was NOT THE PLAN I don't even know WHAT HER PLAN WAS before this happened XD
> 
> Fight me on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) :D


	10. how to half-ass a relationship: lance & allura style

“So it seems like Seafoam was pregnant, and we just didn’t know it,” Lance told Keith the following morning after dropping by the back patio and being greeted by the bodyguard sitting out on one of the cushioned chairs. 

They stood out by the railing as Lance rubbed his hand over his brow and sighed. “I don’t know how to take care of _kittens_. I’ve never owned a cat before because my Ma’s allergic. I agreed to get Seafoam because—” _Because Hunk would think it was sweet and selfless of me_ “—I’ve always wanted a pet! And dogs are kind of high maintenance and expensive, and Seafoam was so cheap at the time because she’d been at the humane society for so long.”

“What are you gonna do about the kittens?” Keith asked.

“Well, if they have the same temperament as Seafoam… probably sell them for thirty bucks a piece? I mean, a _lot_ of college students want cats. You’d be surprised. We’d put posters on UWM’s campus and they’d be gone in a day,” he said. “There’s five of them and they fit in the palm of your hand. I think they might be premature, actually—they’re _really_ small.”

“You should have a vet check them out.”

“I can’t _afford_ a vet visit and—don’t look at me like that. I’m not having _you_ take them to the vet. You have better things to do,” Lance deadpanned, scowling at Keith before he sighed and said, “I don’t think there’s anything _wrong_ with them, aside from being on the small side. And Pidge is already naming them the colors of the rainbow because, well, Pride and all that fun stuff.”

Keith smiled at that, and Lance relaxed under it with his own cheeky grin. “Though, I don’t want them going off to strangers. I… was actually wondering if you’d want a cat? When they’re old enough, I mean.”

Keith never considered himself the type to take care of things, unless “taking care of things” involved violence. Though, his mother once owned an ancient chocolate lab that died probably a month after Keith was reintroduced to it later on in life. He wasn’t terribly attached to it, and didn’t see the point in mourning the passing of a dog. He _did_ appreciate the idea of having something small and fluffy running around the apartment, though…

But if someone happened to break in, the last thing he’d want to see is a cat bleeding out on the wood flooring.

“I don’t know, Lance,” he confessed weakly. “I mean, I’m not much of a pet kind of guy. I’ve never _owned_ a pet before.”

“Cats are super easy to take care of!” Lance insisted, but faltered when Keith gave him that bland look. “I mean, aside from Seafoam. She’s a monster. But I think she’ll be better now that she’s not, you know… carrying the weight of five other cats. And Allura isn’t allowed to have pets in her apartment building…”

“Well that’s just unreasonable,” he told Lance, smiling wide as Lance shouted in agreement. It was an abomination!

“So would you want to have one? When they’re older?” he asked, and Keith shrugged and said he’d think about it. 

Keith took Lance not far from the Third Ward where they talked about who the father of the kittens likely was. Lance was certain that no one, not even a horny tomcat, could put up with Seafoam’s bullshit. It’d have to be an equally broody, probably ancient cat who lived at the humane society, and knocked her up when the volunteers weren’t around. It was such a colorful love story filled with cursing and crude words because Seafoam was likely pissed at Pidge and Lance from taking her away from her beloved, ancient, horny tomcat.

They ended up on an accidentally-dodgy part of town with industrial-styled office buildings that really were the cause of the all the uncertainty in that area. Graffiti colored the brick walls cemented together on the very edge of their designated property lines, and Lance stood in the shadow of one as Keith walked off to answer a phone call. 

Keith was still on the phone as they walked across the street, and closed off the conversation when they finally found the store sign. “Purple Door?” Lance recited, raising an eyebrow at Keith.

“Shiro said it’s good. It wasn’t here when I was a kid,” he confessed with a shrug. “They have weird flavors.”

“My kind of place. If they don’t have pickle-flavored ice cream, I’m going to be _very_ disappointed,” he said, pulling Keith to the door where the line started.

As they ate their ice cream, they walked down the sidewalk behind the industrious buildings to the open blocks of grass. Lance could see city kids coming by to play baseball in view of the highway, or machinery driving up and digging out the basement of new apartment complexes. The grass was still dewey from the morning air, but Lance plopped himself down on it and said, “Pidge would like that ice cream shop. I’ll have to take her there some time.”

Keith hummed, mouth full of ice cream as he stood there until Lance tugged on his shorts to get him to sit down. They studied one another as they scooped ice cream into their mouths and licked off their spoons. Keith’s eyes were solid black, like his irises were nonexistent, and Lance loved how sensitive they were to the light, and how he wore sunglasses more often than not. Lance always saw him walk into Alterra, nudging his sunglasses up to the top of his head so he could make eye contact with Lance, and smile at him so his eyes squinted.

But Keith was somber now, his lack of sleep showing under his eyes, and how there seemed to be a permanent redness to them that made his hard, sharp edges tender. 

Keith’s gaze flickered down for a moment so he could scoop up a bit more of his maple almond ice cream. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Lance said.

“Well, it’s not really a _question_. Just something I need to say. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“Okay.”

Keith looked away for a moment, towards the road before turning his eyes back to Lance. The sternness in his expression was almost comical, so Lance giggled a little and hid his amusement with his spoon in his mouth. “I… wasn’t lying about my friends who have restoration powers. If you ever need medical attention—and I’m not suggesting that this falls under the category of _needing surgery_ , but… you can call me at any time,” Keith said softly, as if afraid of Lance turning away his offer.

Lance developed a cheeky grin and joked, “Are they registered powers?” 

He wasn’t expecting Keith to say, “No.”

With how kids were raised in the educational system, all their powers were charted like thumbprints, and if they opted to subscribe to power prescriptions, their powers had to be registered. Most power prescriptions were occupation-based—doctors, physical therapists, professional athletes, among other brainiac powers that tended to excel with engineers and scientists—and all major corporations had their employees go through power testing a lot like drug testing to ensure that their powers, if applicable, were registered and legal for occupational use.

The agency Lance worked for was specific towards exceptional powers who went through military-training. Lance could have taken his powers to a construction company, had blood work done, and gotten a prescription for a patch to use his powers that way—but fighting crime was a kid’s dream, right?

“What—?” Lance started, stuttering as he shook his head. “Where do they get—?”

“They work for my family under the agreement that their powers won’t be registered. The government doesn’t know about them,” Keith said. 

Something soured in the pit of Lance’s stomach that whispered at him to tell Kolivan straight away. His tendencies of trying to be a perfect student, a “teacher’s pet”, suddenly sparked back to life like he was in grade school again realizing that another student was cheating. _People aren’t supposed to bend the rules like that_ , his Ma’s voice said.

But he hushed them with a terse nod and suggested they head back to the car. It was getting hot out anyways.

  


  


The nagging didn’t stop there, and despite Lance’s best efforts to remain the cheerful guy he always was, something just wasn’t sitting in his stomach right. It felt tight and solid, and hungry to devour him whole and seep through his pores like tar until he was nothing more than a speckled, hollow cove like a sea sponge or a fossil-ridden stone. 

He worried about Allura since she fretted daily over Lance and Pidge as though nothing else in the world mattered. He supposed her anxiety was rubbing off on him ever since Kolivan chewed her out and left her licking other peoples’ wounds rather than her own. She couldn’t bear to face Shiro without feeling like the guilt was eating her alive, and somehow, Lance found himself blaming Shiro rather than Allura. That really shouldn’t have been the case, but when he saw Shiro and Allura walk into Keith’s apartment on Friday… he just couldn’t help it.

Allura spent the days following Lance’s hospitalization at their apartment, claiming it was because of the kittens. She was so concerned about them and getting Lance and Pidge home, that straight after the movie, she declared that they had to go. All through the movie, she ate popcorn piece after popcorn piece, and Lance earned more than one worried look from Pidge. Allura tended to snack obsessively when her anxiety was off the charts, so Lance wasn’t entirely surprised by her urgency to leave when it finally did erupt as the credits started to roll.

“Really? It’s only ten—we could go for one more,” Shiro said, and Lance aggressively thought, _Stop looking so desperate to get your hands on her_. Immediately after, though, he mentally scolded himself and felt embarrassed for being that way. Those two were practically dating—Shiro had a right to want to spend more time with Allura.

“I don’t like leaving the kittens alone,” she said, already on her feet.

“They _are_ a whole lot like drunken toddlers,” Pidge said, and looked to Keith as they said, “They can’t even _see straight_.”

“They can’t see— _period_ ,” Lance corrected, laughing.

“My point exactly! Blind, drunken toddlers. What’d I tell ya,” they said, and Keith laughed, not looking too crestfallen to see them go. Lance was convinced that Keith was still used to being on his own, and some part of himself was grateful for the independence. He supposed that even his own desperation for company still left him overwhelmed.

Shiro got up quickly after Allura and walked her to the door as Pidge got up and kicked a blanket on Keith’s lap. They bent down and shoveled all the blankets over Keith before he could even think to complain about it. In the end, he seemed content to be under a mound of comfort, if only because he still had use of his arm and could reach up to grab Lance’s hand. 

“I’ll call you,” Keith said.

“Not unless I call you _first_ ,” he argued, momentarily distracted by Pidge gagging from beside him. 

They were heading to the door just as Shiro said, “But I’ll see you later, right?”

Allura waved her hand flippantly as she scurried out the door, blurting out a hasty, “Yeah, yeah, sure” in her wake. Lance slipped into his sneakers and tugged the lip of them up as Pidge zipped on their boots and kicked them out with a flare, as if to say, “How do you like them apples?” Lance giggled and nudged them in the shoulder before realizing that Shiro was still standing there, looking disgruntled by Allura’s disappearing act.

The door was closed, and with Allura on the other side of it, Shiro asked them, “Is there something wrong with Allura? She hasn’t been acting… normal.”

“I suppose you’ve only known her for a week, right?” Pidge remarked, and Lance slapped them. “What? I’m just being honest.”

Lance rolled his eyes and insisted Pidge was joking, but Shiro just glared at him. “Allura’s anxiety is all out of whack since I was in the hospital. I’m sure it’ll just take some time for her to get back into the swing of things.” _And also for Kolivan to apologize to her_ , he added mentally, but he knew their rep wouldn’t ever do that to Allura. If anything, Lance wouldn’t be surprised if Kolivan distanced himself from her further. That was probably what Allura was expecting, and dreading all the same.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, and both Lance and Pidge shrugged. They had no clue.

They said their goodbyes and left, only to turn the corner down the hallway and find Allura waiting, leaning against the wall as she picked at her fingernails that were already bloody at the cuticles and chewed to the skin. Pidge shut the apartment door and frowned at her, saying, “You’re being a total bitch to him.”

“We just—” Allura started, straightening up and throwing down her arms with a huff. “We just shouldn’t be worrying about inane things, all right? And I mean, Lance works fine with those sorts of things clouding his judgement, but I don’t.”

“Thanks, I guess?” he said.

They were hurrying down the hallway away from the door so there wasn’t the chance of them being overheard. Pidge folded their arms over their chest and said, “Regardless, you shouldn’t let Kolivan bully you into thinking your priorities aren’t straight.”

“They aren’t—!”

“You’re just saying that because Kolivan said so. Until he said it, you probably hadn’t thought hanging out with Shiro was a bad thing—which it isn’t! And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one to endorse these romantic notions, but… small doses aren’t a bad thing,” Pidge said, and Lance thought, _Hot damn. Well said._

Allura scowled at them, and they scowled back at her. Eventually, the elevator dinged and brought them to the parking garage as she eventually said, “Regardless, I don’t think I should continue dating Shiro if it’s hindering my ability to get to my _real_ job. As much as I love Alterra, I don’t plan on staying there for the rest of my life. I told myself I’m going to focus on the Defenders, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Lance remembered when the three of them were first put together in training sequences and team-building exercises. Allura may have come from Milwaukee, but she had hopes of rising up in the ranks before realizing that her Defending team would eventually be the best in the agency. He wondered if she still had big dreams of leaving Milwaukee and going on to bigger and better things.

“You can’t leave Shiro hanging, though. Right, Lance?” Pidge said.

“Whoa, don’t drag me into this. Apparently I have a knack for entertaining inane things,” he said.

They never did finish the conversation because they were already at the beat up white car, and Allura just opted to drop the topic altogether. Lance felt the palpable tension in the car like a second skin that just didn’t fit right. They weren’t meant to be fighting—fighting meant a potential disaster when it came to Kolivan alerting them to a new job.

  


  


The last thing Keith wanted to deal with was finding Lance out by the Public Market after Alterra had closed, and they had plans on staying in the night together. Keith had worried his lip between his teeth for ten minutes after Lance’s shift was due to end before deciding to meet Lance by the parking lot that connected the view of the river to the Public Market. On the corner there, at the entrance where the flower shop bouquets were in the daytime, stood Lance talking to Hunk animatedly with his hands out in front of him.

Keith slowed down the second he saw them, and _heard them_ laughing together. Whatever anger he knew was meant to flare up, didn’t, because he saw Lance from afar how everyone must see him. He remembered at the Harbor House how Lance, in his tipsy state, would talk loud and throw his arms out and nearly tip over his wine glass in the process. He wondered if this was how the waitresses must have viewed him from afar.

If only it wasn’t Hunk he was talking to.

Keith debated just leaving, but dreaded the thought that Lance just… wouldn’t show up that evening. Remorse the size of leeches clung to his chest. He thought about how afterwards, his passive-aggressive attempts to broach the subject would be like plucking one of those leeches from his heart and feeling the wound open and weep. Every time he’d try, but feel godawful about the thought of seeing Lance’s guilt, or the alternate—his pity. How could he bear to see Lance pity him for his hopeless affections?

So Keith couldn’t leave.

He kept walking and crossed the sidewalk without either of them noticing until he called out Lance’s name, and sent him jumping in surprise.

The way Lance smiled in the dying sunlight just sent sparks through Keith’s insides, like they always seemed to do. He got the good kind of goosebumps—the kind that came from fireworks or after watching the most incredible film, reading the best book. And somehow, Hunk didn’t seem that important anymore.

“Keith!” Lance blurted out, “I was just heading to your apartment, but I got distracted.”

“That was all my fault—I asked him how his day was and we’re still in the middle of it,” Hunk laughed, and earned an elbow to the side for it. That day Hunk was wearing a low-collared shirt that showed off what looked like a handmade necklace of seashells. 

“I was just coming to see if you got lost or something,” Keith said, feeling dumb just feeling how the words tasted in his mouth. Like sour apple candies.

Lance laughed, and he caught the hitch of nervousness in it as he looked to Hunk and said, “I was just gonna go hang out with Keith after work—but I promised I’d walk you home!”

“I’ve developed a fear of the dark,” Hunk told Keith. “Walking home in the evening feels like going into my parent’s basement now.”

_Good_ , Keith thought, not even surprised by the vicious tone his brain said it in. 

Lance launched into a childhood story about how he and his two siblings were once trapped in the basement during a storm where all the lights shut off and they couldn’t find their way to the stairs. Keith zoned during it until he cued back in when Lance said, “But I’ll come by as soon as I drop off Hunk! Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”

“Oh,” Keith said. Anything more felt too heavy on his tongue.

“I’ll see you around, Keith! We gotta have a chat some time—you seem like a nice guy,” Hunk said, clapping him on the shoulder just as Lance said, “You should like a middle-class white guy at a barbecue.” They walked off, channeling that same vein of the conversation that had them laughing, and Keith was sure it continued on even after they stopped.

As Keith walked back to his apartment, Lance felt light as he practically floated down the sidewalk with Hunk on the current of whatever wave they were on. It was so easy talking to Hunk that nothing else seemed to matter aside from making Hunk smile and laugh. They made it to Hunk’s doorstep before Lance even realized it, and he wondered if time seemed to pass quickly for Hunk, too.

At Hunk’s door, he said, “Well, here you are.”

“Yes. Here I am,” Hunk said, gesturing to the door. “I would invite you in, but your boyfriend—”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Lance blushed, swatting a hand at Hunk. “But I do have to get going. I promised him that we’d hang out tonight.”

“Are you sure? Because he seems to think otherwise.” It took a moment for Lance to realize he was talking about Keith, and frowned at Hunk for ruining a perfectly good opportunity for him to invite Lance into his apartment for the first time. They’d spent so much time together whether it be walking the streets of Milwaukee, or working out, and Lance was disappointed to realize that he didn’t even know what Hunk’s living arrangements looked like.

“Lance,” Hunk interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up with a pout. “Lance, seriously. I think this Keith guy really likes you. And I think he’s been getting the wrong idea about us.” Hunk laughed a little bit, hollowly, as if he wasn’t sure Lance would find it funny at all. 

“But—”

“Seriously, Lance. It was nice talking to you tonight. I’ll see you later, okay?” he said, pushing open the lobby door of the apartment building and waiting for Lance to say that it was okay. Everything was… a-okay.

“Yeah, sure,” Lance said, deflating as soon as Hunk turned around, and walked off through the door without looking back.

Lance huffed and rubbed his hands over his face with a miserable groan. What the hell was he doing with his life? Anyone in their right mind would call him wishy-washy, but… he spent _months_ waiting for Hunk to acknowledge that _some part_ of their friendship was more than just _that_. And now that Hunk finally grazed it, even if it was with a ten-foot pole, it had to do about how unfaithful Lance was being. _Unfaithful?_ How could he say that after he’d spent so much time _waiting for Hunk to make a move?_

Lance stood at Hunk’s stoop for so long, that the time it took to walk to Keith’s apartment felt like a decade. He couldn’t stop thinking about Hunk’s beautiful, perfect, godlike hair. And how he laughed at all of Lance’s jokes. And how he was probably the time to let Lance sit between his legs during movies because he was tall enough to see over the top of Lance’s head… And how he would probably fit perfectly beside him as they spooned together in bed…

_Fuck_ , he was at Keith’s apartment patio, and that familiar guard was sitting at the cushioned couch there, as if waiting for him to come back home at some ungodly hour when he was really supposed to be there two hours prior. 

“Hey…!” Lance said uncertainly, shooting her finger guns as he climbed up the steps. “I never learned your name.”

“It’s Erin Antok. But I just go by Antok,” she responded. “I don’t make a habit of getting involved in his personal life, but I won’t take kindly to people who make him unhappy.”

Lance was so surprised because he barely heard a word out of her until now that hadn’t been “yes, sir” “no, sir”. It stung like seeing That Look on his Ma’s face when he came back from school knowing his report card wasn’t as slick and shiny as it should have been. And he was sure Antok had more to say to him, but the patio door opened and Keith came out to give her a pointed look and gesture Lance inside.

Lance was already tearing up. Nothing seemed to be going right these past few days, ever since Kogane nearly killed him, tipped Allura’s anxiety off the scale, and Seafoam went and had five kids without them knowing. He wasn’t even sure Keith was going to mention anything, or if he even noticed anything suspicious about Lance’s behavior towards Hunk, but he was bawling his eyes out before he could stop himself. It just made him feel worse because Keith’s first instinct was to comfort him when really, he should have just let Lance get his shit together because it wasn’t _him_ who should be crying.

“I-I’m sorry, Keith—” he blubbered uncontrollably, even as he pushed Keith’s hands away, and deflected them when he tried to hug Lance. “N-No, Keith, really—”

“Lance, it’s okay—”

“ _No_ , it isn’t,” Lance hissed out, throwing Keith’s hands away with more force than he intended. He probably could have broken Keith’s wrists if he wasn’t careful, and when Keith jolted his hands to his chest, he really thought he had. “ _Shit_ —Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

“What has gotten into you?” Keith blurted out, eyes wide. He honestly looked scared, perhaps because he’d never dealt with a crying, hormonal guy who really should have been acting his age. Once Lance started crying, he couldn’t seem to stop, even if his voice was functional. 

“I-I shouldn’t be half-assing anything, and I really hadn’t meant to going into this,” he said, shaking his head before clearing his throat and continuing. “But I really like you, and I really have no excuse for treating you like _shit_ just because—”

“You haven’t been treating me like shit, Lance,” he said quietly, and looked away the second Lance caught his eye. “I’m not upset over the way you treat me when we’re together, or even when we’re with your friends.”

“Regardless, sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m really _here_ , and I _want to be_ ,” he insisted, “but going into this—going into this I _really,_ really liked someone else. And I’m sure you know who, and I have to say it’s almost been a year and if I’m completely honest I’m still head-over-heels for him. It’s honestly really sad and Allura thinks I’m insane and I don’t blame her or you for hating me because of it. I thought… going on dates and _dating you_ would get rid of my infatuation with him but it didn’t! Not completely, anyway.”

Lance’s eyes started to water again, and he forced himself to look at Keith even when Keith wasn’t making eye contact with him anymore. 

“And _every time_ I hang out with him, I feel like I’m _one step closer_ to actually getting something out of whatever friendship he thinks we’re in and now I just feel like I’m manipulating the both of you trying to fill whatever _gap_ I made in my heart for him.” He hated to admit it, and hadn’t until now. The yearning in his chest was manmade, not spontaneous like it should have been. His desire for Hunk was completely self-indulged the second Allura pointed Hunk out to him. It was like crushing on a celebrity in his teenage years—someone older, completely out of his league, and yet someone who he managed to pry a space open in his heart, and save it for hopelessly until the fancy of it faded away because there were more important things to put in that open space.

“And Keith—”

“Don’t,” Keith whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Lance shut right up, and covered his mouth with his hand to keep himself from saying anything. He watched Keith turn back towards the kitchen where he picked up an already-full glass of something dark like brandy. He took a tentative sip, and Lance saw that he cried like Allura—with red eyes and lips. 

“If you want to be with him so much, why don’t you ask?” Keith finally said, voice steady as he pegged Lance with those sharp eyes. Lance’s now nonexistent confidence shriveled up and died in the pit of his stomach. “I’m surprised you’ve gone this long without telling him a thing. He looked completely oblivious.”

Lance glared at him harsher than he intended, but Keith wasn’t even looking at him. “I suppose that’s no different from the way you looked at me half the time before I asked you out,” Keith sighed.

“I always thought you were cute. Ever since you couldn’t decide between the light and dark roast,” Lance grumbled, walking up to the countertop so he could have something to pick at. “I doubt Hunk ever thought I was cute.”

They were both quiet until Lance slowly pulled away a stool from the countertop and said, “I wish you’d just break up with me and get it over with. Anyone in their right mind would.”

Keith had the glass at his lips again, but just seemed to settle it there, as if the smell alone would get him drunk enough to deal with Lance at that moment. Lance studied him for a moment, and as Keith lowered the glass to the counter and looked at Lance, he hastily brushed away the drying tear tracks from his cheeks. 

“You know, you were the first person to ever ask me out on a date?” Lance said. “Before you, I always was the one to ask a girl or guy out. After my last girlfriend, I told myself I’d wait for the other guy to make the move.”

“So that’s why you won’t ask Hunk,” Keith hummed, and Lance nodded. “You’re such a stubborn prick.” 

To Lance’s surprise, Keith laughed, and if Lance didn’t find it so unhumorous, he would have, too. Instead, he just covered his nose with his hand to hide his trembling lips. 

“Oh, Lance, I was kidding,” Keith said. 

Lance wanted to say that he didn’t care whether or not Keith was kidding because he was right. And he wanted to tell Keith exactly what Hunk thought of him—that he was an asshole for leading Keith on. He was an asshole for repeatedly claiming that he wasn’t dating Keith when he was. And it was just because he was stubbornly waiting for Hunk to say something he probably would never admit, or think to admit, or ever even consider. 

Instead, all the words died in his mouth and he let his head fall on his forearms until he was able to breathe again. When he finally regained his composure, he realized that Keith had his arms around Lance, and their heads were tucked together around their shoulders. 

“I’m so sorry for leading you on,” Lance finally said, sniffling. “I don’t know _why_ you’re comforting me! You probably need a hug.”

“Don’t worry about it—”

“Nope, it’s already on my mind. You can’t stop me because I’m a stubborn prick,” he declared, arms already tight around Keith, even when he tried to pull away. Lance wouldn’t let him, though, and Pidge and Allura knew well enough not to fight his hugs because their patches made it impossible for them to break Lance’s hold once he had it there.

Keith nestled close then, and they stayed in the kitchen hugging because they didn’t want to talk anymore and exhaust whatever remained of their self-control. Lance was grateful for that, because if pushed hard enough, he could cry his eyes out for days on end. He had once—for his grandma’s funeral that lasted far too long—and he never wanted to experience that level of puffy eyes ever again.

Eventually, Lance pushed himself off his chair and loosened his hold on Keith. They didn’t quite separate, but Lance found enough space in his chest to fill his lungs with air again. “I still really like you, though,” he said.

“But Hunk—”

“I don’t know. I seriously just… don’t know,” he said. “And I don’t want to deal with opening that can of worms. Not if it’s going to make you unhappy. So… if you don’t want me to talk to Hunk anymore, I think that’ll help. Then I feel like I’m responsible for once,” he added with a laugh, and Keith scrubbed a hand over his eyes with a soft smile. “So? What’ll it be?”

“I don’t know, Lance,” Keith confessed with a sigh. “I’m too tired to think about it, honestly.”

He started to move for the loft stairs, but stopped when he realized Lance was still lingering in the kitchen. “Am I… allowed to stay the night? Or do you want me to go so you can have some peace and quiet?” Lance asked.

“You can stay the night. Come on—I’ll dig up something from my closet for you to wear,” he said, holding a hand out to Lance, who rushed to it as if Keith’s hand was suddenly a tether back to whatever normal they had before Lance came into his apartment bawling.

After Lance changed, they went to the bathroom together and dug up a new toothbrush stashed in the medicine cabinet, and shared Keith’s toothpaste and face wash. In the mirror, they could see the wreck they made of their eyes, cheeks, nose, and lips. Lance looked at the real Keith—the one standing next to him in the mirror. When Keith turned to him, he hastily pecked his lips to Keith’s pink ones and said, “Still cute.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but smiled regardless as he rinsed water over his toothbrush and leaned over the counter to start brushing his teeth clean. 

Up in the loft, Lance climbed onto the California king bed and sprawled out like a starfish before realizing that Keith was looking at his phone. “I have to call someone. I’m just gonna step outside for a minute, and then I have to dismiss Antok,” he said, and Lance hummed his assent. In all honesty, he passed out about five minutes after Keith shut off the lights, clicked the blinds closed, and yanked the curtains over the living room windows.

Keith went out to the back where Antok rose. She seemed to have waited for him, and said, “Sir, I was looking out for your wellbeing by addressing the matter with Lance—”

Keith lifted a hand and said, “That’s not what you’re hired to do.”

“I’m hired to protect you, and I believe that includes your emotional and mental state.”

“You are hired to _physically_ protect me. You shouldn’t give two fucks about how I am emotionally,” he all but hissed out. 

She bowed her head, murmuring, “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.” He studied her, thinking about the look on Lance’s face when Keith came out to the patio to fetch him. He remembered then how Antok complimented his choice in Lance when they were in the elevator, and how really, that wasn’t any of her business. 

He stepped off the patio and unlocked his phone. He paced up the riverwalk as Shiro picked up with his familiar greeting, followed by Keith saying quietly, “I need you to come by the back of my apartment with a bodybag in at least ten minutes.”

“No questions asked,” he responded, and they hung up.

When Keith returned to the patio, he didn’t even need to go about the formality of lifting his hands to drench Antok on shadows, and suffocate her through her nostrils, ears, and gaping mouth. He solidified her insides like he had with the man in the parking garage, and the frustration of not having caught the Blue Defender oozed out like gaseous worms through her hollowed-out pores. It was a bloodier show, and he was grateful he was on the boardwalk to avoid the splash that plinked on the window before he swept his arm across the scene and brought her corpse up onto the cushioned couch where she’d lay until Shiro came to fetch her. 

He doused that corner in shadows for any onlookers and headed back inside to crawl into bed with Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0.0 [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	11. who to listen to

The following day was Tuesday, and Lance dreaded going to work so much that he called in to miss the first twenty minutes, knowing that would likely be the timeframe in which Hunk walked in. And by that point, he felt sluggish and guilty for having missed twenty minutes of work that he missed another ten just dallying about on the riverwalk from Keith’s apartment. 

He never considered bringing up the topic of his infatuation with Hunk to Keith, and now that he had, he hoped that some part of his heart and mind would feel lighter. That hardly seemed to be the case, because his guilt manifested itself in a way that made him feel as though he gained twenty pounds rather than lost it. On top of it, being around Allura was torture because Monday was full of her fretting over everything so much. He was so on edge on Monday that he fucked up a drink order, forgot to charge someone for a muffin, and let a customer walk away with a declined card, and not having paid for their drink—which did nothing to appease Allura’s high stress levels.

Even though he slept like a rock at Keith’s apartment, it was almost as though he hadn’t slept at all. His brain was working a mile per minute trying to solve the situation both he and Keith left open to likely fester.

When he finally did clock in, Keith actually beat him there and was already sitting with his coffee across the shop. He putzed around in the kitchen cleaning dishes to avoid Allura for a bit longer, and to make his absence less suspicious to Keith. He wondered if Keith suspected that he was rendezvousing with Hunk in the alleyway (which he _wasn’t_ , but the guilt made it feel like he had).

Lance suspected he couldn’t even look at Hunk without bursting into tears now, so he was thankful that when he asked Allura, she reassured him that Hunk had already floated off to the Public Market with his dirty chai and all. “He asked where you were and I said you were just running a bit late. Is that okay?” she asked—she wouldn’t ask if it was if she wasn’t so nervous anyways.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he said, offering a genuine smile as he settled into his usual position at the cash register. Even though his arm was fine now, he preferred that zone more than the rest because he could talk to the customers more.

The day droned on up to the point where Keith packed up in the corner, and Lance zoned in on him instantly even as he walked up to the counter to slide Lance his dirty mug. “I made up my mind,” Keith said.

“And what’s that? That you’ll take one of the kittens?” he jested, and when Keith didn’t laugh, he figured they were on the topic of Hunk again.

“I want you to tell him,” he said. “And whatever happens… I’ll be okay with it.”

“Really?” Lance blurted out, and felt stupid just saying it. “I don’t have to, Keith—”

“It will probably eat you up inside anyways, knowing you,” Keith sighed, turning away as he admitted, “And I want to know what he says. That guy is hard to read considering how open he is about everything.”

Lance murmured something, but it was just a pointless, incoherent statement to fill the silence. Eventually, he blinked and found Keith looking at him now, waiting for an answer. “I, um—Only if you’re comfortable with it,” he said.

“I just said I was.”

“Being ‘okay’ isn’t the same as being ‘comfortable’, Keith,” he said. “And besides, we can talk about this later if you want—when I don’t have customers waiting in line.”

Keith leapt in surprise, as if shocked by the woman standing behind him. He apologized, moved off to the side, and pretended to inspect the posters on the bulletin until Lance was done taking orders and helping Allura make drinks. He came back to stand at the espresso machine where they could talk through the gap. 

“And whatever happens,” Lance said, a sense of foolishness coming over him. He blushed a little, smiling as he said, “I still want to be friends with you. And I hope you don’t stop coming here just because you have to see my awful face around every day.”

Keith laughed and said, “Okay. And I don’t think I _could_ stop coming by now. Seven days makes a habit, and I’ve been coming here for nearly a month now. I’m addicted to your drinks.”

Lance giggled as he cleaned off the steamer and shared a cheeky, almost bashful smile with Keith. “Okay. I’ll ask him.”

“Okay. I’ve got to head out and meet up with Shiro. So I’ll… see you around? Tell me how it goes?” Keith asked, and Lance agreed to it. 

Allura watched them from afar as she counted off the change for another customer, and passed it to them from across the counter. That day she had her hair in a web of practically-minuscule white braids that ended in a long fishtail—something her mother used to do for her. She found it was a way to waste time mindlessly, and did so the previous night to distract from the fact that she had several unattended-to missed calls and voicemails on her phone.

All from Shiro.

After Kolivan’s scolding, and the scoldings after it, she went through a brief phase of grief from not being there for Lance and Pidge when she should have been. After reevaluating everything, and writing a literal list out of things she cared about (Defending being #1, Alterra being somewhere around #4, Lance and Pidge tied at #2, Kolivan at #3, the kittens at #5…), Shiro just wasn’t on the list of things that mattered, at least at the moment. Once she realized that, it was easy to find every outing with him senseless, and therefore, a waste of her time.

It wasn’t that she lost her initial attraction to him—she still found him incredibly daring and beautiful. Everything that happened beforehand, she now looked at with fondness. She could still appreciate the novelty of their brief affair as just that—a fling.

But that certainly didn’t stop him from calling her constantly. It was really getting on her nerves, so she blocked his phone number that day at work after Keith left Lance in a slightly lighter mood than before.

“What’s got you so happy?” she asked, offering a sly smile to Lance as he shrugged, tucking his hands behind him as he swayed on his feet.

“Oh, nothing. We’ll see how it goes—I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” he said. “But either way something’s bound to go wrong.”

“Isn’t that always the case with us these days,” she muttered. 

“Pidge claims it’s because you haven’t been getting laid,” he said, and she gasped. Why wasn’t she surprised, though? Of course Pidge would make crude comments like that, and they never failed to make her face heat up and flush her dark caramel cheeks pink.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Pidge is being more insufferable than usual.”

“Which is surprising because they're done with classes now,” Lance laughed. “You’d think—wait, no, that actually makes more sense now. They have more time and energy to bother us now. _Damn_. Just when I thought I was free…”

Allura’s phone dinged, and if the tone hadn’t been so familiar, she would have dreaded it. Lance perked right up and hurried over to see the alert. They read the full report together until Lance had to tend to a customer, but Allura still stood there quietly shrinking from the mention of the metal-armed power categorized as a level five threat. He was on the same threat level as Kogane simply because his abilities were potent enough to require a single zap and nothing more. 

In all honesty, she became dependent on her powers despite her inability to use them in the daylight—simply because her hair was far too white to disguise properly. Every attempt she made to turn anything white invisible, they came out shimmery like water, flickering in and out of focus. There really was no point for her to use her invisibility unless she stuffed all of her hair into a baseball cap—but even then she wasn’t one to eavesdrop if it wasn’t for her work as a Defender.

“One of our moles must have alerted the agency about this,” she told Lance as he navigated to one of the coolers and pulled out a pitcher of ice tea. “I’m just afraid that anything Kogane does now is planted. They’ll probably be expecting us.”

“Best to assume that than not at all,” he said. “And so what if they’re expecting us? I can’t imagine a trap could hold the three of us down—literally. They’d need a cage that weighs as much as a whale to keep me down.”

Allura glowered at him and said, “Even if it _is_ a trap, I don’t think we should try anything too crazy if that… that _power-zapper_ is still around.”

Lance snorted and repeated, “Power-zapper.” 

“Lance, be serious. Don’t try anything stupid—stick to your bow, all right?” she said. “The last thing we need is our muscle being taken away.”

The thought of Lance losing his power reeled through her the rest of the day at Alterra, and even afterwards as they were closing up, and she locked the back door behind her. Lance hadn’t gone off the patches in probably a decade now, when they first started introducing his class to the power. Unlike Allura or Pidge, his power was so innate and woven into his daily life.

She couldn’t imagine him without it. 

  


  


Shiro twisted his prosthetic from his bicep and dislodged it from the base where it locked and stuck into place. His father had his cap specially made for him without batting an eye at the cost of two near-impossible prosthetics that were ahead of their time. Sure, functional joints were common now, but his work prosthetic was simply unheard of. 

He laid down his human arm and snapped its case shut before opening the folds of his mechanical arm and snapping the base in. With the top of it still unfolded, he powered it on and clasped the surface flat once more. As he strapped it to his shoulder, he felt the weight of his arm like a numb limb that still functioned without him having to spare a moment to think about how his fingers moved. 

His prosthetic was made nearly a decade now—he’d be celebrating the tenth year in the upcoming month, probably. But before that, he remembered the look on Keith’s face whenever he saw Shiro missing an arm. He hadn’t thought to think of the night he lost it in so long, ever since Keith figured out how to school his expressions around Shiro once his prosthetics came in. But it was about a year and a half of watching kids at school look away guiltily, as if they were there the night he lost it rather than just a handful of them. 

There were some things he regretted doing when he was a freshmen in high school, and one of them happened to be befriending a group of seniors prone to drinking alcohol on the weekends and doing stupid shit like sneaking off campus to hang out at the river, or on the town, or on the back roads where they ended up drag racing and ultimately being the cause of a drunk-driving incident where Shiro, who was in the back seat, was flown out of the door that severed his arm off and into the air. The drunk drivers in the race flew off with their car’s red paint scratching up its hood and side—the police would find it later in the dorm parking lot—while Shiro’s friends crowded around stuffing their jackets over his shoulder and putting pressure on it as he flickered in and out of consciousness.

His father had been _beyond furious_. It ended in several lawsuits against the drunk drivers, and against the friends of Shiro that saved his life. Shiro had no voice in the matter, and ultimately was the cause of the kids having to drop out of that private school in Pennsylvania and attend public school in their designated states—simply because their parents couldn’t afford it after having coughed up huge sums of money to Shiro’s father.

Really, Shiro suspected his father was waiting for a reason to destroy someone’s life by smuggling all their money out of their pockets. They never saw eye-to-eye in that case, or any other case for that matter, but it was the reason why they were not only able to afford Shiro’s two prosthetics, but also the reason why they lived in such luxury now. Sure, working so closely to Kogane had its benefits, but it wasn’t a severe enough salary to warrant a Lake Drive house.

Shiro didn’t visit home often, since he never really _lived there_ , but when he did, he felt itchy and discontent in every conversation with his father’s wife, Luxia. Maybe it was because he knew she was never comfortable with anything his father did, or what Shiro did for that matter, but there was always an undertone of disappointment in her voice when she spoke. She had the same elegant British accent Allura had, but with a more regal form to it. Allura’s word structure was jumpy and light and had substance to it that wasn’t glossed over and perfected like Luxia’s.

Shiro hadn’t stopped thinking about Allura since she cut off communication with him. He suspected she blocked his phone number, and when he had one of their techs look into it, they just proved his suspicions. He couldn’t understand _why_ or _what he did_ to aggravate her so much, but he tried to convince himself of what Lance said.

She was stressed, and maybe being with him wasn’t helping her anxiety at all. If that was the case, and that being away from him improved her mental health, then… he’d just have to accept it.

But it didn’t stop him from wondering if that wasn’t the case. What if she was seeing someone else, and just didn’t want to mention it to him in fear of his reaction?

He sighed as he pushed himself off his bed. He really shouldn’t be thinking about Allura right now.

He left his house and started up the engine of his motorcycle. There weren’t many people up and about at this time on the weekend, so his ride to Lake Drive was quiet as the sun settled below the horizon, and his headlights cut between lampposts. As he drove up his father’s driveway, he noted the living room window glowing with light from the road side opposite the lake, and the mansions collected there.

Milwaukee had a knack for putting overpriced houses on the lake bluff despite the fact that Shiro was certain that eventually—even if it _would_ happen after they were all dead and gone—the property that now costs millions would no longer be existent. He laughed at the memory of Keith arguing with his father—like he always used to do—about how stupid it was to invest in something that would just erode away by the time Keith was the age his father was at the time. But at the time he was fighting his father over it, Keith was only ten and stubborn, and won the fight that prevented his father from buying a Lake Drive house.

Shiro parked his motorcycle and hopped off, pointedly ignoring the scratch Keith gave it the other day. Keith claimed it was parked at the time someone on the road nicked it, and Shiro just waved him off saying, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever—you’re still gonna pay to get it repainted.”

He knocked on the front door and was soon face-to-face with his stepmom. “Hey Luxia,” he said, “Is my dad home? He said he’d be around before I headed out.”

“Something came up,” she said, and as Shiro was about to make his excuses and head out, she peered out the door before ushering him inside.

Luxia was a pretty thing with an eye for jewelry that seemed to be what Shiro’s father roped her in with. Shiro wouldn’t have been surprised if either of them confessed to it, and it was always a surprise to hear her soft, elegant voice after being accustom to seeing pictures of her heavily tattooed shoulders and arms. She had an elaborate chest piece of an infinity water serpent curled around like one of those decorative marks on a wedding invitation. It existed before Shiro’s father met her, but the sleeves certainly hadn’t—at least not in their current abundance.

Luxia pinned Shiro with her ringed fingers, and pulled him into the house by the wrist. “I’m worried about your father,” she confessed, shutting the door. “I think he’s involved in something dangerous—and I’m not talking about the Koganes, at least not that youngest one.”

“The Koganes have always been dangerous,” Shiro sighed, rolling his eyes. “Dad’s worked with them longer than you have. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I don’t need your condescending attitude right now,” she remarked, sharp as ever. “That wretched aunt of his stopped by earlier today and your father’s been gone ever since.”

“I imagine you eavesdropped,” he commented, and when she didn’t respond, he took in a deep, painful breath. “You’re not supposed to listen in on Dad’s meetings, Luxia.”

“They were talking about Zarkon,” she said quietly.

Shiro was surprised to hear the name. He wasn’t entirely convinced Keith intended to take over Zarkon’s quadrant and convert his following of powers. The reason being that while Zarkon dealt power, his main product was in the realm of illegal substances and drugs that spread even into the Kogane’s sections. The Koganes didn’t deal with narcotics simply out of their own morals, and godawful family history with it, so their sector only worked with powers, and everything else was generally supplied by Zarkon. 

Taking over Zarkon’s quadrant was a shock to them at the meeting because it meant Keith was considering dealing narcotics again—at least, Shiro hoped he realized that.

“We aren’t talking about this,” Shiro hissed out. “I need to go.”

“I think she’s working for Zarkon,” Luxia insisted, her wide blue eyes stuck on him, and sucking him into keeping his feet planted on the carpet in the foyer. 

“What makes you say that?” he demanded. “Haggar was a loyal follower of Ko’s—she wouldn’t betray her own family like that.”

“Your father was talking about how some of the Kogane’s supply ended up in Zarkon’s territory. I listened to as much as I could because—I mean, I trust the Koganes _far more_ than I do whatever Zarkon’s planning. And I think he’s planning something.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at her, thinking as fast as his father taught him to. Being in a family like this certainly made him aware of the corruption in most people. He wouldn’t put it past Luxia to feed him the wrong information. She had no reason to trust him considering how little they liked one another to begin with. Anything she said could mean the opposite. 

She could be working for Zarkon, trying to plant a seed. He wouldn’t let himself consider it in fear of something happening to Keith.

“My dad may hate Keith, but I’m not fucking stupid, Luxia,” he spat at her. “Do yourself a favor and leave it be.”

“Shiro— _please—_ ”

He pried his hand out from hers and stormed to the door. He slammed it shut behind him, but it opened a second later to Luxia shouted, “He’s not there for _compromise, Shiro!_ Don’t listen to him! Don’t let Keith— _Shiro!_ ”

He didn’t look back as he flipped her off, backed his motorcycle out of the driveway, and cruised off. He had better things to worry about than Luxia meddling in his father’s business. She could hear her throw something into the lawn, screaming, “ _Fuck you!_ ” He wondered about the chances of him coming back tomorrow and finding her valuables packed and out of the house.

Shiro was assigned to an industrial part of town. It was a coincidence that Luxia would mention Zarkon, considering one of his reps was coming in to negotiate with Keith on the possibility of an alliance—the Koganes would supply and run Zarkon’s power. Shiro remembered the look on his father’s face when Keith suggested it. They’d essentially be working for Zarkon for the time it’d take for Keith to uproot Zarkon’s operations and take everything for himself. Even a few months—perhaps even years—of working for someone other than themselves smelled like weakness to anyone who did business with them from that point on.

“Our conditions are that the power still comes from us, and we keep our current customers, but we start selling our goods to Zarkon’s cliental. We’ll be making less than half of what we usually do off of them because we’ll sacrifice a majority of the profit to Zarkon. He likely won’t take anything less than seventy-five percent of the profit,” Keith said. “And if we have to—we’ll accept at the lowest twenty percent. Either way our product costs more than theirs and the price won’t change, but the quality is better and chances are, people will be willing to buy it.”

“We can’t go on chances,” his father had said. “Zarkon’s people haven’t transferred to us in _years_ , so it’s not quality they’re worried about. They won’t fucking care what you’re giving them as long as the price stays the same. We could give them flour and it’d take ‘em a few weeks to realize it.”

Prorok had laughed, but stifled it when Keith pegged them with the sort of glare that normally would have been accompanied by a tight feeling in their feet under the table, where they were doused in the shadows Keith controlled.

Keith wouldn’t even come to the negotiation if he didn’t have to. Shiro would be his messenger, and he’d be accompanied by Prorok considering distribution was a large part of what he did for the Koganes. He knew the most in terms of their number of customers, where they were, the success of their product on a grand scale. If Zarkon’s rep was any good, he’d be asking questions Prorok would have the answers to after being in the business for so long. 

It seemed like Shiro only knew their losses considering when he joined the higher rung of the operations, but Prorok was there in the height of Ko’s industry. He could project their successes better than Shiro could.

Shiro rode up to the open field of concrete just as a truck rolled past the metal gates covered in ivy and weeds. Shiro followed in after it, stopping to talk to the guards Prorok had posted there. He shook their hands and introduced himself as he watched the guarded truck pull up down the length of the chainlink fencing. He saw a group of vehicles waiting down there, and so he saluted the guys at the door and sped off.

“Shiro, you made it!” Prorok said with a throaty laugh as Shiro dismounted to join them out by the enclosed truck.

“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” he chuckled, earning a clap on the back from Prorok. He could see how Prorok was easily misjudged in his day-to-day life. Shiro was certain the man worked at an office desk most days. The only relative of Keith’s that Shiro knew didn’t have a job other than this was Haggar, but she produced a large sum of their power and was currently being hunted. She hadn’t attended the last meeting they had, and as far as Shiro knew, she was hiding out in the warehouse where their equipment was to make the powder that went into their pills.

Thinking of her led Shiro to reach into his pocket and produce his set of pills. He popped it out of its case and swallowed it dry. It’d been a few hours since he last took one because he had to deal with one of Keith’s cousins earlier that day after she got back from interrogation at the precinct. Keith never met her before, and she didn’t even know he existed because of his schooling in Pennsylvania, so for the most part, Keith’s relatives were certain that he wasn’t alive, and that the Kogane rising up now was likely a bastard child Ko put in his will instead of the rest of them.

Which… they weren’t entirely wrong about. Keith _was_ a bastard child.

When Zarkon’s rep came, he came with three other vehicles that stopped far from their truck. It was their “peace offering”, Shiro supposed, as a sampling of what they could provide. For the most part, they were pills—easier to transfer and package, and more condensed. Otherwise, there was the pure, fine powder that preceded the concentrated pills. 

Prorok tapped Shiro’s shoulder as they studied the man walking out from his car, and his collection of guards. “Here. Give him the powder to try,” Prorok said, stuffing a plastic package into his hand. The powder would show more of an immediate effect than the pill would. Even in small doses, the powder was so potent that the high that came with it was intoxicating.

“So long as he doesn’t think it’ll kill him,” Shiro laughed. “Who do you suppose the rep is?” 

“Certainly someone you can square up against if Zarkon knows what’s best for him,” Prorok said. “I’m not sure if he’s expecting Sendak to come, or you.”

“Either way they’ll need someone who can withstand severe lack of patience,” he chuckled, and started to walk off towards the middle ground where Zarkon’s rep stood. He pulled out his mask and drew it over the top of his head as he walked.

Shiro wondered what Keith was thinking from where he was probably sitting in his own car away from the meet up point. Shiro remembered the dull way Keith addressed the fact that he consciously planned on killing his (favorite, as far as Shiro could tell) guard, Erin Antok. Keith never entertained the idea of murder as a pastime of his, but… Shiro cleaned up the mess without a fuss and without alerting it to the other members of the team aside from his father. He saw it on his father’s face before Shiro could insist that wasn’t it—that Keith was losing his mind with the responsibility of taking over Ko’s power industry.

Shiro thought about the oblivious yet beloved Lance, and how irritated Keith was the following day after he got back from working at Alterra. Shiro was already at the apartment when Keith came in and dumped out a glassful of whisky—which he hated—but chugged despite the burn showing on his face. “Drunk before sundown?” Shiro had laughed, and earned a glare for it.

“Lance is going to ask Hunk out,” he said. “And I condoned it. I can’t fucking believe I told him to do it. _God_. _Fuck!_ I’m so fucking done with this.”

Shiro hadn’t known what to say, and wondered if Keith took his anger out the previous night on Antok. He never considered Keith to be the sort to senselessly _take someone’s life_. But he knew several cases Ko opened up that involved disappearing husbands and wives with worried spouses wondering where their partners went. _Six feet underground_ , Shiro always thought.

Shiro brushed that aside as he addressed the man waiting for him, arms crossed and young, dark complexion. His narrow, skeletal features reminded Shiro of druggies he once knew who looked as though the life had been drained out of them. His hollowness resonated in the 

“So I hear you have a proposal for a possible… collaboration,” the man said. “And I would shake your hand, but I suspect your Sendak’s son, Takashi Shirogane.”

“I am. Can’t say I’ve heard of you,” Shiro said. “You can just call me Shiro. Takashi gets to be a bit of a mouthful most days.”

The man grinned as he said, “Then you can call me Haxas, to keep things simple. I suppose you have your own set of start-up conditions, but allow me to lay down what Zarkon expects of his partnered productions. A month long probationary period where we work on using up the rest of our supplies to make room for your’s. We gradually swap in your goods to a dozen or so clients for that month, and if all works out and no one dies on either side, we _consider_ taking you on.”

“Consider?” Shiro repeated, being sure his confusion came off as aggressive, if not threatening. “If everything works out, why not just take us on?”

“It all depends on what your conditions are,” Haxas said. “And if by that point, you end up agreeing to everything we have to offer and require… we will only take you on if those terms are met.”

“I can’t imagine all your long-term requirements are compatible with what Kogane is offering,” he remarked. 

“If Kogane insists on keeping our operations separate, Zarkon refuses to accept beyond the probationary period. All of your guys become ours, and the exchange is mutual. We merge everything.”

“Our guys _stay_ under the Kogane name,” Shiro said. Immediately uniting employees would increase the chance of moles making their way up the ranks. It was the case for both sides, and Shiro was surprised Haxas was even suggesting it. If things went sour a year in, it’d be nearly impossible to determine who was loyal and who wasn’t, and ultimately lead to the downfall of not only the distribution of high-quality powers, but also Zarkon’s entire underground dealing of narcotics.

Shiro was about to explain as much, but that would only insinuate that both sides were untrustworthy. It’d only increase Zarkon’s suspicions about Kogane, and insult him in the process.

“You have a month to reconsider that, Shiro,” Haxas said. “Tell Kogane I said as much. Overall Zarkon expects you to provide for the entire power production for our current territory and your own. You cease the violence against my guys if they happen to be at exchange points in your territory—which we _know_ for a _fact_ has been occurring since Ko went down.”

“Bullshit. We haven’t been attacking your guys—We’ve had an understanding that your power doesn’t enter our territory, and it’s stayed that way. We wouldn’t attack your guys unless we suspect you’re hindering our business, which you aren’t.”

Haxas shrugged, uncrossing his arms to hold them up, as if to surrender. “That’s not what I’ve been told. But regardless—If we merge, we don’t want a fuss from your guys and partners on the other side. I personally know how fussy your people get over a change in power.”

Shiro laughed bitterly, and would have told him to fuck off right then and there, but someone shouted from Haxas’s side, and almost immediately Shiro turned to see Prorok pointing to the fencing. 

“What is it?” Shiro asked, squinting at the flare of green off in the cluster of dying trees.

“No clue,” Haxas said. Just as Shiro turned back, he reacted fast enough to dodge a punch from Haxas that sent blasts from both sides as guns went off, and powers swelled at all corners.

Haxas’s fists speckled and frosted over in a hiss of ice that Shiro blocked with his metal fist. He grabbed Haxas’s hand and cracked his other fist into the side of Haxas’s head, sending him to the ground _hard_. Shiro’s powers didn’t settle in his sparks, but seemed to flare up in his very muscles that dealt harder damage within the first half hour of ingesting a pill. His reflexes became sharp and effective, which helped in dodging Haxas’s fists covered in ice. 

The second Shiro was about to send a blast through the jolts of ice collecting in the crevices of his metal hand, all the ice turned to stone that deflected his shock. His heart jolted, but the fissure of white crackled through the already-dissolving rock and bolted into Haxas’s arm. It wasn’t his best hit, but it knocked Haxas to his knees, and sent him panting, ice crumbling into sand on the concrete. 

A bullet bit Shiro’s metallic arm with a spark, and shattered on contact. A shard cut into his jacket and nicked the collar of his shirt as he ducked to avoid the wildfire from both sides. A car flew by and the man leaning out the window took out a guy by grabbing his rifle and swinging the butt of it into the back of his skull. Shiro ran for the car hosting Prorok before Haxas could recover long enough to realize that while his power wasn’t completely gone, he couldn’t depend on it for this fight. He took out a pistol and aimed for the back of Shiro’s head, only to have it smacked out of his hand by an invisible force that felt a whole lot like a hand.

Something slammed into Haxas’ gut that felt like a solid concrete column drilling into his ribcage. He flew several feet before collapsing, rolling onto his back as the trauma hit his stomach. Unimaginable pain surfaced as his lungs ruptured from the shattered bits of his bones being drilled home by a foot to the stomach.

The figure flickered into focus with a shimmering black uniform. It clung tight to the surface of his sharp edges, and his narrow torso that merged with the angular, bony structure of his shoulders. Lance turned away to spot that bearded guy with the metal arm, not thinking twice about the man he left to bleed internally on the ground.

Lance whipped his bow over his shoulder and ducked to avoid a person running towards him, having seen him during Allura’s momentary falter. The man yelled as he pulled the trigger on his gun—but not before a jolt of electricity zapped through the air and simultaneously, all the guns in the area ruptured in their user’s hands. Lance took the distraction as a chance to swing his bow out and shatter the man’s skull, flinging him off to the side in time to duck and loop the arc of his jet black weapon up, tripping the guy behind him. He launched himself off the man’s falling body—forcing them both in opposite directions from one another. 

His jump sent him soaring, loosening two bows from his quiver and notching them in time with his descent. He took out two guys aiming for Kogane’s men—while Kogane was a necessary subject to the agency, they were familiar with the monumental narcotics structure at the base of what made Milwaukee so supposedly unstable.

“Blue—” His name crackled into his ear from the com unit— “we need you at the druggies side _pronto_. There’s two power-zappers.” 

“Why’d y’all have to pick up on that lame nickname?” Lance complained, landing as two bodies dropped behind him with their arrows clinking out on the concrete. He hit the ground roughly, and staggered to catch his balance before being bombarded by a car zipping by and barely managing to graze past him. He started running, and leapt out to the hood of a car in time to catch Pidge’s sparks lighting up the concrete. He lifted in the air so that her shock couldn’t catch him, and watched a dozen men lose their balance and spasm to the ground.

He was about to bolt off the windshield when, through the open car door, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the ankle. Already in midair, Lance’s momentum skewed sideways and sent him to the ground—

A jolt of something fiery like lava sprung through his muscles and bones and it felt as though his skin was turned to liquid for a split second of agony. He didn’t even feel the concrete dig into his side and bite through his uniform. His vision went black, flickering in and out like bad television service that needed something to hit it so it could get its shit back together. 

Whoever it was let go of his ankle, but Lance could steel feel jolts of it shaking him viciously. The man slammed his fist over Lance’s face once—twice—rupturing blood vessels and swelling the side of Lance’s face with his knuckles. As his vision came back into focus for the moment, he heard a petrified, “ _LANCE!_ ” from behind. He saw the squarish, broad face of the man standing over him before he punched Lance again. His already heavy, aching limbs were grateful for the moment of rest the knock-out gave him.

Sendak rose up from where he knocked Lance unconscious, spying his son standing across the expanse of people who the Green Defender had electrocuted. Sendak ducked back into the vehicle and slammed the door shut, starting the engine up to head across the length of what could otherwise be deemed the remains of No Man’s Land. He aimed for the truck on Kogane’s side and spun around next to the driver’s side where he climbed up and threw the driver out of the seat. He confiscated the truck and drove it off the scene, far from where Prorok was now simply waiting for Kogane to arrive and reassure him that the truck was completely empty—they hadn’t lost any of their supply. 

Shiro was stuck from where he ran, and from where he saw his father in one of Zarkon’s vehicles. He would have kept going—he _would have_ confronted his father. The thing that stopped him was the Blue Defender being taken down, and his momentary rush of relief was ruptured by someone screaming his name—his real name, and a familiar one at that.

“Lance?” Shiro blurted out, feet moving before he could stop himself. 

He was standing over Lance, collapsing next to him before he could stop himself. He heard Lance’s bow scrape up from the concrete, and looked up just in time to have the edge of it at his nose. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” the White Defender hissed, image sizzling like mirage over asphalt. 

Shiro’s thought fast—like he was taught to—and connected everyone he knew Lance kept in contact with the most. Keith—Pidge—Hunk—Allura. He knew Allura’s body as well as he could from the week of total _bliss_ they spent together.

“Allura—oh my God,” he said, and instantly the White Defender faltered, bow lowering for a second before she whipped it back up beneath his chin, knocking his eyes up to look at her. “Allura, wait—”

“Who the fuck are you,” she seethed. “How the fuck do you know my name. Tell your goddamn _Kogane_ I’m not fucking afraid of him. You looked up our records, didn’t you?”

“No—It’s just—” he started, stopping to shout at the man running towards them. Allura stopped and whipped the bow around like a bat, screaming as she completely butchered the man in the side of the face with a most-likely weighted bow. It _was_ the bow that belonged to the Blue Defender. When Shiro watched her swing it, it was much like trying to watch someone at the gym swing the naked pole of a barbell.

Shiro bolted up and swung around just as another person bolted for him. He deflected their attacks, twisting their arm back and grabbing them by the back of the neck with a jolt of power that ruptured in white specks across their body. He let them drop before turning back to where Lance was trying to get up, and failing.

“You two need to get out of here,” Shiro said, reaching down and hefting Lance’s arm over his shoulder. “I’m not fucking around. Kogane’s probably been warned and is on his way here—and I can’t let him kill Lance—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Allura demanded, trying to yank Lance back to her. The poor boy was a mess—he couldn’t get his footing together and would most likely need to be carried. Now that Shiro’s father sped off in that vehicle, it wasn’t likely that they could get—

“What’s this certified douche canoe doing?” the Green Defender’s voice sounded in front of them, and their image drifted in by varying colors. 

“Pidge—you must be Pidge,” Shiro said, groaning as he muttered, “Unbelievable. Well—could you maybe jumpstart one of these cars?” 

“I could. But not for you. What’s he up to, White?” they said, fists tensing as if preparing to electrocute him—but they both knew they couldn’t do it. Not when he was holding Lance up.

By this point, a lot of the cars were scattering, leaving behind people in their wake with the bodies on the ground counting up. Soon, there wouldn’t even be a car to jumpstart, especially not when everyone was escaping the scene. With all the gunshots in the start, 911 was called far off where the nearest neighbor could hear them. 

Shiro pulled off his mask and didn’t look at Allura as he said, “Start a goddamn car up before Kogane gets here. I’m not fucking around.”

Pidge’s eyes went wide, and they looked at Allura fast before running off to fetch a car. They zapped one of the guys running towards it, and dragged their foot across the ground, illuminating the car in green from below. It jolted, swaying on its shock absorbers as the headlights flickered on, and the engine purred. “That was _way_ easier than I thought it was going to be,” Shiro muttered as he hefted Lance up in his arms and started hurrying to the car.

Allura stayed behind, frozen at the revelation that the metal-armed guy _wasn’t_ , in fact, a forty-year-old who used to work for Ko. She was quick to remember how Shiro said that he never really cared to live in Milwaukee until Keith moved back. Her heart quickened as she realized that entire week she was recovering was because _he_ had been the one to wound her in the first place. _He_ was the one who sent the agency into a panic. 

And now he was stuffing Lance into the back seat of a stranger’s getaway car, and Pidge was claiming the front seat, waiting for Allura to get back on track.

“What are you _doing?_ ” she blurted out as Shiro slammed the back door and yanked open the passenger door for her. 

“Kogane’s gonna be here soon and I’ll take the heat for it—but just _get out of here_ before he does. He nearly killed Lance last time, and this will be worse because he doesn’t even have his powers to defend himself with,” Shiro said, and stopped, panting, to look at her. “I’m so fucking sorry, Allura—I hadn’t—I didn’t know it was you until now I swear to _God_.”

She had her lips pursed tight together, and her blackened eyes were hard to recognize in their solemnity. Shiro’s chest ached from the guilt of having taken her powers away—and he _knew_ and _acknowledged_ how incredible her powers were to begin with. He hoped that she could see the pain that he conveyed in his expression as she dropped into the passenger seat just as a familiar black vehicle flew into the parking lot. 

“ _Go!_ ” Shiro shouted, slamming his hand on top of the car’s roof as Pidge kicked it into gear and bolted for their escape. He watched after them, and only turned to face the other side of No Man’s Land when he heard a car door slam shut in the silence.

Shiro started to walk, aware that Keith was coming for him. It took a solid minute of tension for the two of them to meet in the middle where Keith immediately drew back his hand and slapped Shiro across the face. For someone who looked so stoic, Shiro was surprised to find so much force behind the hit. 

“ _Traitor_ ,” Keith hissed. “You fucking _let them go?_ You even _carried_ the _Blue Defender_ according to Prorok? You want to tell me otherwise after I fucking saw you wave them off like they were going on a fucking _vacation over seas?_ ”

“Keith, trust me, you don’t want to deal with them,” Shiro insisted. 

“Where the fuck is your mask—”

“I’m going to deal with them later. I found out their identities and… just let me deal with it before you come in guns blazing, all right?” he said, regaining his composure as Keith’s tense shoulders slackened. Now, he was just staring at Shiro, eyes wide and still _furiously_ trying to see what got into him. “And my father took the Blue Defender’s powers anyways. We won’t be seeing him for a while.”

“Prorok said he ran off with a truck full of nothing,” Keith said, relaxing slightly and turning away from Shiro to storm back to the cars. “C’mon, we need to get out of here. The cops are gonna be here any minute to do a bodycount, most likely.” 

They jogged to the cars and bolted from the scene. There were only three vehicles left, and so Prorok and two other guards took one while Keith and Shiro climbed into the backseat of the last. Shiro tossed his motorcycle keys to one of the guards with them while the other claimed the driver’s side. The gravel churned under the wheels, and they jolted over the speed bump at the gates. The lights from the lot faded behind them as Shiro looked at Keith, who had his hands clenched over his lap. 

“I wouldn’t have let them go if I didn’t have a reason,” Shiro told him. “You just need to trust me on this—I _will_ take care of it.”

“I know,” he murmured, looking away from Shiro. He stared out the window for the entire trip back to Keith’s apartment, and didn’t say a word when he opened his door and left Shiro in the tungsten lights of the parking garage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hollerin'. I loved writing these scenes 'cause I've been working on my transitions and stuff, and so all the POV switches were, like, my JAM. IDK if they flow well together yet, cuz I'm still working on it, but... YEAH idk.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	12. SEASON 3 HYYYPE

“Lance used his strength for _everything_. Without his powers, he’ll have to essentially re-learn how to use his muscles until the patches start to work again. He’ll need help walking and holding things, and he’ll need painkillers to get through it. All this time he _has_ been exercising his muscles, but his powers worked in a way that depended on them. Allura also went through withdrawals, which may be the cause of her heightened anxiety. Lance will likely go through them as well, regardless of the fact that he has a fresh patch. Usually, we ween our Defenders off the patches with progressively smaller doses, and with Lance he wouldn’t have experienced withdrawals or lack of strength that way. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t the case.

“Also, going to the restroom might also be difficult,” Kolivan added to Pidge because Allura was on the couch in Lance’s familiar infirmary room with her head in her hands. The smell of burnt sage settled around them.

“Oh God, Avonaco, don’t tell them that,” Lance whined. “I don’t want them to know about my number two stuff.”

“Why would— _Oh_. Okay. Because he clenches his asshole and all that,” Pidge said, giggling, and Lance turned red even as he glared at her.

“He should still be able to walk, but carefully and he’ll need support. I would suggest a cane, but… I’m under the impression you wouldn’t use it, would you, Lance?” Kolivan said, and Lance’s scowl confirmed his suspicions. “Anyways, I hope to come by your apartment tomorrow to check in. I wouldn’t expect you to come all the way here to see me. Expect me before noon, after eight.”

“Okay, I’ll be up,” Lance promised, and watched him leave with a long, drawn-out sigh. 

When Kolivan left, Lance heard from Pidge that the evil, bearded, power-zapper was none other than Shiro. It explained the state Allura was in, as if her guilt and anxiety wasn’t already causing her to lose hair—literally. She used their shower once before that godawful night and left strings of white hair in their trashcan. He didn’t exactly blame her, and the knowledge of it only sank deeper when Pidge alerted him to the fact that they were keeping it a secret. From Kolivan. 

“Allura’s disappointed Kolivan enough—no offense,” they said, “so we’re trying to minimize the damage. You know how it goes.”

“By withholding the identity of the power-zapper?” Lance said. “That sounds stupid, but whatever. Do you think Keith knows it?”

“It makes me wonder if Keith’s in on that whole operation,” Allura whispered from the couch, lifting her head up to show her red-tinged eyes to them. “I mean, Ko dies? New people show up in his industry? Maybe Keith _came here_ because he has connections to the business?”

“Imagine if his last name was _Kogane_ ,” Pidge said, giggling, but neither Lance nor Allura found it amusing. “You’re right. That’s not funny. And Ko was ruthless, so you’d think his son would be too.”

“Keith isn’t ruthless,” Lance sighed, tipping his head onto the pillow. His brain felt like it was in a tub of water, and it sloshed and ached whenever he moved his head. “And he’s _puny_. He literally has no muscle. You could probably snap his arm in two without even trying.”

“You mean _you_ could snap his arm in two,” they corrected. “Also, this means you get to laze around all day. Do you think you’ll still see Keith even though you promised to cheat on him and also he might be working for Ko’s company?”

“I’ll only see Keith if Allura sees Shiro,” he said, and looked to where she rubbed her hands over her eyes and yawned. “It sounds like he really meant to help us. I mean, what kind of criminal _does_ that if he doesn’t care about you?”

“He wouldn’t have helped us if I hadn’t _blurted_ out your name. God, I’m suck a fucking idiot,” she cried out. “He probably would have finished you off if he hadn’t known you were _you_ , Lance! He’s still a terrible person, if only for that reason!”

“Regardless, I don’t think I could have killed him if I figured out he was your unofficial ex,” Pidge said, and looked at Lance with a shrug. “As soon as you put a name to the mask, you really can’t look back.”

“That is… a statement to live by. Thank you for your insight, Pidge,” he said.

“Your welcome.”

Allura put an end to their conversation by insisting they leave. She was exhausted, Lance was half-passed-out again, and Pidge was a flaming fireball of energy that needed to be evacuated from the agency infirmary. One of the healers from the agency came in as Allura and Pidge went to bring the car up to the front for him. She wheeled in a chair for him, and when he insisted he could walk, he ended up making it to the door in five minutes when it really should have only taken five steps to get there. He gripped the door frame, panting, and grudgingly accepted the wheelchair because it felt like his legs were made of jello.

She wheeled him to the foyer of the agency where Pidge giggled at him and took the handles of his chair, because even his arms seemed like limp noodles compared to what they were before. Suddenly all of Pidge’s comments about his arms being sticks became true.

“Kolivan said you could keep the wheelchair for now and that he’d take care of the rental,” the woman said, and Lance muttered his agreement as Pidge waddled down the ramp with him in front of them. The woman followed them so she could help Lance into the back seat of the car, and he was just grateful that she didn’t need to actually _carry him_. Pidge would never let him live that down if it were the case.

Unfortunately, though, their apartment building wasn’t wheelchair accessible even if their actual apartment was, so Allura carried Lance up the stairs against his mad complaints, and Pidge hoisted the wheelchair up for him. Thankfully, the only lived on the first floor, but the door jammed and it took both Allura and Pidge to open it. On the count of three, they slammed themselves against it and fell through, and Lance sat against their neighbor’s door opposite them, laughing his ass off because of how weak those two were without him being there to pry open the door for them.

Allura dusted herself off so she could yank Lance off the ground. She helped him walk as best he could, which really meant he put all his weight on her, and her fingers bruised into his hip where she hoisted him up so his feet barely touched the wood. As she laid him down in his bed for the night, he seriously hoped tomorrow would be better so he wouldn’t have to use a _wheelchair_ everywhere he went.

Pidge’s room was directly next to Lance’s, and Allura stayed on the couch in the living room until mid-morning when Kolivan came knocking, and none of them were awake. Pidge prodded Lance awake, and he was swept into a morning of sitting on the edge of his bed as Kolivan worked his magic. Really, he just tested Lance’s power levels before insisting that he had to _try_ to walk, even if he couldn’t. He had to _try_ to turn a doorknob, even if he couldn’t. He had to _try_ to sit up, even though he couldn’t. By the time Kolivan left, Lance was on his bed again, panting heavily from the exertion of trying to get his abs, his fingers, and his legs to work again.

Pidge sat on the floor next to his bed, watching him as he said, “I just… I can’t imagine my power will ever come back.” The audible confession made his eyes water. He brought a floppy hand up over his eyes and dragged it down the side of his face with a gasp, saying, “It feels like I’ve just been _born again_ and I can’t fucking do _anything_ on my own.”

“But even babies learn to walk and stuff. They’re just, like, globs of putty and then ya mold it into a shape that sorta looks like a human, but who really knows,” they said. “Kolivan estimates two weeks. Allura’s took a week and a half, so I’d say that’s pretty good.”

“But Allura didn’t have to learn how to _walk again—_ ”

“That’s honestly just because you have _no power_ right now. You’re at, like, zero percent. And are you really just gonna lay there until you’re at a hundred again? No. So you’re just gonna have to cope with baby steps for now,” they insisted, clasping a hand over Lance’s arm and giving it a squeeze. “But now we know why you’re such a stick.”

Lance snorted, and laughed even as he cried at the relief of Pidge’s reassurance. 

Pidge was job hunting for the rest of the morning, and so the two of them laid in Lance’s bed as he tried to trick himself into thinking that he was perfectly normal if he just laid as still as possible. Though, the throbbing in his head didn’t help with that, because he never _usually_ got headaches like this. Pidge thought the ultimate cure was bringing in all of Seafoam’s blind kittens, who balled up around Lance because he had no other choice than to accept them at this point.

Seafoam came and hunkered down with them, never purring, but only watching them with her analytic green eyes. Somewhere around dinnertime, long after the two of them ate lunch, Lance woke up from a nap with a _killer_ migraine that made it feel as though his brain was rupturing through his ears and oozing out the backs of his eyes.

He moaned and turned to his side, nestling into the wad of kittens. “What is it?” Pidge asked. 

“Headache,” he whined, and Pidge got up to fetch the painkillers Kolivan left behind. They started up the kettle for tea, and around the time they were beginning to serve it, there came a knock on the door.

Since Pidge took so long to make the tea, Lance set aside each kitten so he could lug himself into the wheelchair because he couldn’t stand being in bed all day, and coasted out of the room and into the hallway just as Pidge leapt to get the door. They both yelped, and Pidge rammed straight into him and tripped over his lap into the living room. Lance burst out laughing and bumped into their legs as he chased after them to the door.

The door was stuck again, so they called out, “Help me pry it open!”

They braced their foot on the wall, and yanked in time with their visitor shoving it open. In an instant, Pidge swayed back, catching their balance, and Shiro bolted through, practically tripping over himself from pushing on the door so hard. Lance snorted and said, “You two are so weak. I never had a problem with it.”

“Yeah, and now I know why,” Shiro commented, looking at the door and then over to where Pidge was studying him from past her glasses. He looked around the apartment living room again and said, “I stopped by once before to drop Allura off. You two weren’t home and she gave me a tour.”

“Of course she did,” Pidge snorted. “What’s the phrase, Lance?”

“I’m not _that_ stereotypical,” he whined. “And I hate it when people say that.”

“Say what?” he asked.

“ _Mi casa es su casa_ ,” they blurted out, slapping their hands to their thighs and hollering, “There we go! But anyways, my house does not equal your house because if you’re here to kill us, I say go for Lance because he’s the weakest of us at the moment. I still have fight left in me.”

“Wow, way to throw me under the bus,” Lance said dully, wheeling himself further into the living room. 

Shiro looked down at him as if just now realizing that Lance wasn’t sitting in a regular armchair. His eyes went to the size of saucers, and if Lance hadn’t been sitting in a wheelchair at the moment, he would have laughed. Instead, he turned away, and retracted from the space, as if sitting at the wall would make it less obvious that he was mobile. 

“I, um—” Shiro started, turning back to shut the door before scratching the back of his head. “Is this because of what my father did? Is this… you without your powers?”

“Yeah,” Lance whispered. “But it’s just because they were zapped out so fast. My, um, the doctor says that if they would have weened me off the patches, I wouldn’t have had a problem. But it was kind of like having a plastic baggy full of water, and popping it.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Lotta good that’ll do now,” Pidge muttered. “What are you here for?”

“I just came by to see how Lance was. And also—Kogane is willing to look past you guys for the moment. I was hoping to talk to you about your team’s involvement with… everything that’s been going on,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. Lance hummed, but Pidge didn’t say a word, so they were left in silence until Shiro added, “I was also hoping to talk to Allura, but it seems she’s already at work.”

“Good luck with that,” Pidge snorted. “And also—you better thank her because she’s the reason why our agency hasn’t come breaking down your door yet. We’re keeping your identity a secret until she says otherwise.”

“That’s fair,” Shiro said, however softly. “I don’t blame her.”

“Though,” Lance said, squinting his eyes at Shiro. “I _have_ been wondering about your arm.”

“What? That it’s missing?” he said, holding out his usually metal arm that was now simply… human. “I have two prosthetics from the same company who made my specialized one for work. It’s meant to look entirely human with artificial silicone skin. The texture on it is so accurate that they even included my usual amount and length of body hair to it.”

“Seriously?” Pidge blurted out, their tough-guy attitude vanishing to run up as Shiro walked over to Lance to show him. 

“They actually took the specs from my _real_ arm and put in fake moles and freckles where they originally were before the accident,” he explained as Lance ran his fingers gingerly over Shiro’s inner wrist. He hoped Shiro hadn’t noticed how shaky his hands were.

Pidge lifted Shiro’s arm up to inspect the fine details of wrinkles on the elbow. Eventually, Shiro had to lower his arm and prevent them from poking further. “Anyways, I came to talk about Kogane. As far as he’s concerned, I’m ‘taking care of the situation’ by hopefully convincing you guys to lay low for a while.”

“And why would we do that?” Lance remarked. “This is our _job_. We don’t exactly _pick and choose_ —okay, well… we _can_ , but that’s not the point. The point is, is that our boss wants us to take care of you guys as you very well know.”

“If you’re able to pick and choose what it is you do for the agency,” he said, “then I think you should look into the narcotics being distributed by a man named Zarkon. My father recently switched sides and is the reason why you lost your strength in the first place.”

“What makes you think putting us on a goddamn _detour_ is a good idea?” Pidge blurted out. “You’re just trying to save your skin.”

“Because if we don’t take care of Zarkon, he’ll likely take over our territory, and instead of supplying _power_ and deflecting his distributors’ advances like we’ve been doing, the entire city will be a goddamn circus ring. There will be _nothing_ stopping Zarkon from uprooting every last minuscule drug operation and killing who knows _how many_ people in the process,” he said, and Lance simply turned his head away and scowled at the couch as Shiro continued on. 

He _knew_ how dangerous narcotics were. Going into the program for honing his power, a lot of their test drills and training sequences weren’t exactly _save the old woman’s purse from a thief_ kind of situations. They were exposed to the truth about city life, and the effects drugs had on a person’s mind that might draw them to the gun, and pointing it to a cashier across the store. How, in Lance’s early years on duo teams, he broke down the door of a house where he was confronted by a man in his underwear, pockmarks across his bodies where sores festered from injection wounds, trying to shoot Lance in the heart despite his inability to even see straight. That day Lance broke the locks and bolts on a steel door to a basement where a woman and her two children were forgotten.

Lance had to deal with a lot of those sorts of events when he was on duo teams, back when he was building up his resume to eventually be assigned to an agency that would take him on for missions like the ones he, Pidge, and Allura went on.

But powers were equally dangerous, especially when mixed with the drugs that caused mass shootings and kidnappings. 

“Regardless,” Lance said, eyes locked on the couch, “powers are just as dangerous as drugs. How can you endorse mass-distribution of _powers_? Do you even _know_ what sort of hands those are going into?”

“I do, and I have no say in it—”

“The startup powers in the agencies always have to deal with powered druggies shooting up places,” he insisted. “It’s the crappiest job I ever had to do, and I bet this _Zarkon_ guy supplied the insanity, and _you guys_ supplied the power, huh? And I don’t expect you to tear down an entire drug industry, but I just don’t understand why a guy like you would get involved in something as terrible as what the Koganes and Zarkon do.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Shiro said. “I have _no say in it_. I have no say in being there because it’s my obligation. But you wouldn’t understand, at least not yet.”

“That still doesn’t make what you do right,” he hissed, eyes darting up to meet Shiro’s. 

They stared at one another until Pidge awkwardly slid between them to stand before Shiro and say, “We’ll look into this… Zarkon, whoever. But dealing with Kogane is something we’re ordered to do, and if our boss says we have to, we do it. Got it?”

The tension in Shiro’s shoulders slackened, if only a little. “Understood. Before I go, though, I figured Keith might worry about where you are, Lance. Since you won’t be at Alterra at all. And… even if you _do_ talk to Hunk… I think he’ll still care about you.”

With that, he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out his wallet. Lance expected him to whip out a twenty dollar bill, but instead, he removed a small white baggy of powder and handed it to Lance. 

“Um… thanks. I’ve always wanted a flour sampling,” he said, taking it and inspecting it.

“It’s unprocessed power,” Shiro corrected with a smile, amused by the way Lance nearly dropped it. “It’s potent stuff. I imagine it might give you a boost, even without your powers at their full potential right now. If Keith comes by at all, it might be easier to fake an illness instead of temporary… _paralysis_ if you’re able to walk.”

“I-I’ve never—”

“Snorting it works best from my experience. Otherwise if you’re not into that, just pour it into your mouth with a bit of water and it should go down fine,” he said, and Pidge looked just as alarmed as Lance did for the next hour they spent in silence after Shiro left the apartment and wrenched the door shut after him. It took an hour for Pidge to realize that they completely left the tea steeping on the counter.

He could hear them from his room as they got into the kitchen and swore at the bitter taste of the tea, and it’s lukewarm water. They started over, and Lance laid there in bed studying the white packet on his nightstand.

  


  


True to Shiro’s word, Keith came by the next day an hour after Lance’s shift normally would have started. Pidge was off doing whatever it was they did when they couldn’t stand Lance’s insufferable inability to move, so Lance was startled by the knock on the door, and trapped in bed surrounded by kittens. Pidge had them on a mound of towels so kitten pee wouldn’t be an issue, but now Lance was stuck without a quick way to the door. 

He had gotten Keith’s worried text saying, “ _Where are you? Allura said you were sick,_ ” but didn’t entirely expect that Keith would rush to his apartment promptly fifteen minutes later.

He sat up, practically wheezing from the headache, and looked to the pouch of white powder on his nightstand. _Might as well test it. Either that or try to explain what I’m doing in a goddamn wheelchair_ , Lance thought, and quickly tore the bag open and dumped half of the contents in his mouth like a packet of sugar.

Something jolted in him several seconds later, and he felt it strike through his muscles. He felt _fuller_ , and his limbs felt surer than they had in two days. He pushed himself off the bed with a groan, and found that even with his woozy head, he could still stand straight without tipping over.

He walked to the door, and started the trek across the open living room. It felt like such an accomplishment to reach the door that he forgot the dilemma with opening it. He unlocked the door and said, “You have to push it open yourself.”

Keith tried it, surprised by its immovability, and rammed it with his shoulder. It shook open, and he staggered in, nearly tipping into Lance. They stood, stuttering, in the living room until Keith thought to close the door and turn back to Lance worriedly. 

“Are you okay? You haven’t been at work at all.”

“I… um, I got a _really_ bad cold. I was at the ER last night for it,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly as Keith blanched at him, and if he wasn’t pale already, his face was now as white as snow. “I… have pneumonia or something… they don’t really know…”

“Holy fuck—why didn’t you _call me or something_?” Keith exploded, hurrying into the apartment and pulling out his phone. “Let me call one of my friends and they’ll come right over—”

“C’mon, I don’t need that— _seriously_ , Keith, let it go. I just wanna lay down for a while,” Lance said, suddenly nervous that Shiro’s packet of power wouldn’t be enough to sustain him for a whole few hours while Keith paced around his apartment, fretting over Lance refusing to let him call a restorer to come over. Lance didn’t know many restorers personally who were able to heal illnesses rather than wounds, so he was surprised that Keith actually _did_.

They both fell silent as Keith gave up the fight and lowered his phone to look at Lance properly. “What are you doing out of bed then?” he demanded.

“Answering the damn _door_ , what do you _think_?” Lance snorted, giggling as Keith frowned at him. He hurried over and tugged Lance by the arms and guided him towards the couch. “I’ll just go to my bed, thanks. It’s just—next room over. Yeah, that one.”

Keith backed in, steadying Lance so he didn’t see the wheelchair coming, and actually tripped into it and went skidding to the other side of the small room. Lance burst out laughing, and his body was surprised by the force of it because whatever power he had faltered, and he tripped forward onto the mattress. The kittens mewled as the mattress dipped, and Seafoam hissed viciously at Lance before turning her snarls to Keith.

“Why do you have a wheelchair?” Keith asked.

“They offered it for the walk to the car, and Pidge just stole it,” he lied.

“Oh. I wouldn’t put it past them,” he confessed.

Lance nestled into the bed and tipped his head towards Keith. His dark eyes were quiet, just like his posture, and the fact that he was wearing university gear made Lance smile. Classic, over-the-head sweatshirts just seemed to be deceiving considering how small Keith’s torso was. But those quiet eyes were focusing on the mewling, and suddenly he was leaning towards Lance to get a better look. 

“Are those—? Oh my _God_ , they’re precious,” Keith said, reaching out towards them. Lance was honestly surprised by Seafoam’s compliance, though Pidge always _did_ say that she would be thankful to get rid of her kittens considering how horrific of a cat she was carrying them in her tummy.

Lance shimmied over and made room for Keith on the bed. It was an average full sized bed that shouldn’t have fit the eight of them, but it did, and Lance reveled in the warmth. Keith picked the first one that waddled towards him and lifted it to his chest. He settled down beside Lance and tucked the kitten between them. 

“I pick this one,” Keith declared.

“You literally picked the first one that moved,” Lance laughed.

“Yeah, well, it seemed eager. And I don’t want to force anyone to stay with me if it wasn’t their own decision first,” he murmured, tucking a single finger beneath the kitten’s wobbly head. They were silent for a minute as Lance fretted over what Keith said, and wondered if that was how Keith thought of him.

Before Lance could confess that he really _did_ want to stay with Keith, even if his own priorities weren’t straight yet, Keith said, “Have you talked to Hunk yet?”

“Didn’t get the chance,” he said, lowering his eyes to the cat. “I figured _now,_ that I’m bedridden, I’ll probably wait until I’m better, or wait to see if he comes to visit. I really don’t know if he would.”

“Hunk seems like the guy who’d ask how your grandma was and visit her on the weekends,” Keith said. “He’s _definitely_ going to visit.”

Lance snorted and giggled against Keith’s chest. He smiled like a schoolgirl and looked up at Keith to say, “You think? ‘Cause I always pegged him as the type to get manicures with my grandma.” Keith laughed, nudging his elbow up so he could prop his head on his hand. “But she died a while ago, so I’d be concerned if Hunk said he got manicures with her.”

“What of?”

“… Pneu _monia_ ,” he said, squinting, and suddenly realizing why that illness was the first thing to come to his mind. Rolling with it, he said, “I hope _I_ don’t die.”

“You won’t. You said the doctors don’t even know what it is,” Keith said. “Can’t be pneumonia then.”

Lance coughed for the effect and hummed.

“Where’s Pidge? Shouldn’t they be here taking care of you?” he asked, and Lance shrugged.

“They were here all yesterday. I think they have stuff going on. And I don’t blame them—yesterday was _so boring_ because I couldn’t do _anything_ ,” Lance moaned.

“Are you contagious?” he asked.

“No, wh—” Lance shut himself up because Keith was leaning in and pressing their lips together. 

Lance was so drowsy at the start of it that they just stuck to a lazy, sloppy mess intermittent with giggling and lip-licking so Keith could nip at his septum piercing and cause Lance to scrunch up his nose. “Stop licking my nose—that’s gross,” Lance whined, words fizzling out by the touch of Keith covering Lance’s mouth with his. 

They ended on that slow, long, drawn-out separation before Keith said, “What can I say? I like piercings. My dad would have _killed me_ if I so much as got an ear piercing or a tattoo.”

“You don’t talk about your parents at all. What were they like?” Lance asked. 

“Evil,” he shuddered, frowning at the wall before he leant forward and pushed his lips to Lance’s forehead. He smoothed out Lance’s hair as he added, “My childhood was messy. My mom wasn’t in the picture until I was already in middle school in Pennsylvania because she didn’t want to deal with my dad in the mix.”

“Why?”

“He was an asshole to her. Got her pregnant, disappeared from her life, reappeared when he realized that she had a kid and then filed a lawsuit against her for custody. He won just because he had more money and therefore a better lawyer.”

“That’s bullshit. Do you think you would have preferred living with your mom?”

“I don’t know. She was all over the place and we would have been moving constantly. And I think the one thing that I appreciated the most living with my dad was that… I got to move to Pennsylvania. And I got to stick with Shiro through most of it, so that was nice. I’m not sure what I would have done if Shiro wasn’t around… My mom never would have let me meet him if she ended up winning the case.”

At the mention of Shiro, Lance thought about everything that he, Pidge, and Allura were now thinking. He thought about how these two days were spent contemplating the idea that Keith was involved in the Kogane business.

“What’s your last name,” Lance asked.

“Corleone. My mom’s Italian.” He didn’t even hesitate. Lance figured that was a good thing.

“ _Lance Corleone_ ,” he jested, and laughed until he _actually_ started coughing when Keith’s face went red and he punched Lance in the arm for it. 

They spent upwards of an hour in intervals of silence, and intervals of slow, steady make-out sessions that Lance _lived for_. At around the hour mark, Keith lifted the kitten back to its friends so he could roll on top of Lance and speckle bruises over the sides of his neck. They probably would have continued down that path and Lance would have lost his _goddamn mind_ because he hadn’t had sex in over a year and he was already hard in his pants. Unfortunately, though, Keith paused for a moment, and hesitated over Lance’s chest before groaning and saying,

“We can’t. Not when you’re sick—let’s wait until you’re better.” He looked pained saying it, and Lance realized that after he was better, he’d be going to Hunk and deciding which path he’d want to take.

Throat constricted, Lance merely nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth. He pushed himself up a little, distracted by the weight between his legs and the fact that Keith was practically sitting on it now. Lance looked at Keith’s face just as he was smirking at Lance and startled wiggling his bum on Lance’s lap. Lance whined for him to stop and pointedly turned his eyes away, a smile still on his lips as Keith taunted him.

“It’d been a _year_ , Keith, don’t mess with me,” Lance said, pushing his hands on Keith’s chest.

Keith threw his head back and laughed, “A _year_? You’re so _weak_. You’re like Shiro.”

“Why? How long’s it been for you?”

“Twenty-three years.” 

Lance laughed a little, blushing at the thought before he realized Keith was being entirely serious. He bolted up faster than he intended, and they nearly bonked noses. His head swam and he focused his surprise on Keith, saying, “Wait—You’re serious? You’ve never had sex before?”

Keith shook his head, and Lance felt compassion swell in his chest. He wasn’t sure what his expression said, but it made Keith blush and turn away with a nervous laugh. “I’ve gotten _close_ before, but… I always get too nervous and have second-thoughts every time.”

Lance threw his arms around Keith and squeezed him with the power Shiro’s package gave him. “I also didn’t know them very well and I was just traveling so it just didn’t feel right,” Keith said. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s cute,” Lance murmured against his shoulder.

“Be serious,” Keith laughed.

“I am! That’s so sweet. I didn’t expect that at all,” he confessed, giggling as he rocked them both side to side until they heard a bunch of squeaky cries from beside them. The kittens were invading, and trying to climb between them and behind Lance, so they had to pluck them off so they both could lie down again. Keith got Lance’s laptop from the desk where the wheelchair sat, and Lance huddled giddily under the blankets, thinking about how sweet it was being Keith’s sort-of boyfriend. He got to learn things about Keith no one else knew, and something about that was comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Corleone = Me, without internet: "Hey what's an Italian last name?" My Dad: "Corleone." Me: "What's that from?" My Dad: "The Godfather." Me: "PERFECT."
> 
> SOOO ??? This might turn into an essay but like ??? Who cares this is Season 3 we're talking about. And there aren't major spoilers in this aside from Shiro's Pokemon evolution (and the spoiler that came out months ago where Matt and Shiro were fighting together):
> 
> First off: I have to say I really appreciated the fact that the Matt and Shiro spoiler REALLY threw off how I thought Shiro was gonna be found, and how he was gonna see Matt. That spoiler wasn't even FOR this season and it changed everything about how I viewed the season in a way I wouldn't have otherwise! Because A) I wasn't expecting Shiro to turn into an emo rock band guitarist and [B)](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/post/163787303325/every-time-shiro-came-on-screen-after-his-pokemon) have a Pokemon evolution that exposed his flawless forearms to us and C) WE HAVE YET TO SEE MATT. This season seriously could have turned out to be infinitely longer than it was if they decided to delve more into character dynamics with Lotor's sicknasty gal squad, and the paladins themselves, but because they didn't focus a hugely significant amount of time on the paladins (other than what was strictly necessary i.e. Allura and Lance) WE WERE ABLE TO LEARN SO MUCH ABOUT VOLTRON ITSELF. Like, before we were INFANTS and now we are MEN.
> 
> Rant = over.


	13. a piece of his heart

“Allura.” She was startled to hear her name from down the alley where she locked up the back of Alterra. She jumped, clutching her bag to her hip before realizing it was Shiro. He pushed off the brick wall opposite her, noting the plastic bag of old pastries she had, and the fact that she looked suspicious of him being there.

“What do you want,” she asked, squinting at him. They were close in height, but Shiro felt as though she was scowling down at him ever since she started breaking away from him.

“I just want to talk,” he said. “I already stopped by Lance and Pidge’s place and talked to them about it.” Her expression twisted in thought, and she turned away from him to start walking towards the back of the alley where her car was most likely parked. Shiro followed after her, saying, “It’s about what I was doing there with Kogane’s men.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and convince me that you’re blameless,” she remarked sharply. “Stay away from me, and stay away from Lance and Pidge—”

“I’m not saying I’m _blameless_ , Allura—I feel awful about the night I hurt you. Had I known it was _you_ , I never would have done that—”

“But I imagine you’ve done it to plenty of other people, so what’s it matter?” she said, turning on him as she reached the driver’s side of her car. He hesitated, and his prolonged silence was enough for her to unlock her car and swing the door open. She tossed her purse and baggy into the passenger’s seat before turning to Shiro once more. “I appreciate you helping Lance out, and helping us escape, but we don’t _need_ your help, Shiro.”

“I know—you three are the strongest people I know,” he said, “And it’s not my _choice_ to work for Kogane. It’s my _obligation_ to, but I’ll try and keep Kogane from going after you guys for as long as I can if you could just—”

“We don’t _need_ your help,” she insisted.

“But I need _your_ help,” he said, and she sucked in her lip which just seemed to make her expression turn sour. “My father’s switched sides and we haven’t heard from our lead productions woman, and I’m under the impression that a man named Zarkon is trying to take over every distribution operation in Milwaukee.”

“Why would you share that information with me?”

“Because Kogane is the least of your worries now. Zarkon’s foundation is his powers, and even if they don’t use the best quality products, their strengths combined are incredible. They’ve always caused Ko problems before, and it’ll just get worse if Zarkon—” Shiro hesitated, stopping as they heard footsteps coming through the parking lot then. 

A group of people were cutting through the alleyway, and to distract from the topic while they passed, Shiro said, “I really do miss you, Allura.”

“Well,” she said, sticking up her nose, “you shouldn’t. I need to get going. Thanks for the warning, though.” 

“Allura, wait—” Shiro started, but she was already ducking into her car and slamming the door shut. She locked it before he could try and pull it open again. 

Allura drove off and out the alleyway while Shiro stood staring after her. Eventually, he turned and combed his hands through his hair. He hadn’t gotten that close to her in several days, and he couldn’t imagine she even noticed it or cared to. With a sigh, he realized that his phone was vibrating, and so he pulled it out and answered it. 

“Hello—”

“ _Shiro, I need you at Sendak’s place. Mandatory meeting. Luxia’s in a panic wondering where you are._ ”

Shiro sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. Of course she was panicking. He found it oddly suspicious that Luxia would suddenly seek to kiss the asses of every friend of Keith when she could have followed after Shiro’s father to Zarkon’s side. He wondered if she was really genuine about trying to warn him—but what would the point be in that? 

He agreed to come over and started for his motorcycle. Now that he was thinking back on everything that involved Luxia, he really wasn’t all that opposed to her. It just seemed like they lived two different lives that never collided, so he never bothered to talk to her much. His father did a lot to pull her out of dealing—her previous occupation and the reason why Shiro’s father ever met her in the first place. Shiro never considered who she might have worked for and got her drugs from, but… there were only so many larger options. It could have been possible that she was an independent seller, but Luxia had plenty of friends in the business to make that an obvious choice.

When Shiro turned onto Lake Drive and approached his father’s house, he recognized Prorok’s vehicle on the driveway. He didn’t see anyone else, and only heard their two voices when he knocked and pushed open the front door. 

That house always felt like a neighbor’s house rather than the home of his father. He never connected to it for more than a day at a time, and so he never fully remembered what laid in what room. He followed Prorok’s low tones to the kitchen where he found Luxia over a glass of wine with her head pressed into her hands. 

“I _knew_ something was going on after Ko died,” she said, noting Shiro in the room and straightening up to scowl at Prorok. “If I’d’ve known it was Zarkon I would have said something sooner. I didn’t expect Haggar to be involved _too_ , _God_.”

“This is bad,” Prorok said, looking at Shiro as he added, “The people closest to Haggar and Sendak are breaking away. We’ve found several of their houses wiped clean and taken out two others that fought back as soon as my guys started questioning them about either of them. I’ve warned Keith to get out of his apartment for a while because all of Sendak’s guards know where he lives.”

“The one guard I trust with Keith was killed a few days ago,” Shiro said, and earned a surprised look from Prorok. “I wouldn’t imagine you heard because Keith killed her and called me to clean up.”

“You’re kidding,” he said, cursing under his breath. “What has gotten _into that kid—_ ”

“He’s not losing his mind, trust me,” Shiro said with a shake of his head. “They had a spat from what I understand. And Keith can take care of himself. I can’t imagine _any one_ of my father’s men going after him without calling it a suicide mission. You know how Keith gets with his powers. He keeps power in his system at all times so no one can catch him off guard these days.”

“Without Haggar though…” Prorok started, unable to finish it. He shook his head and sighed, “She only told her closest employees the specifics about power production, and all of them fled. We’ve been questioning her technicians trying to get out as much of her formula as we can. The ones who worked the assembly line know _most_ of it, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

“Have you talked to the people who supply the ingredients?” Luxia asked, and Prorok shook his head, pinching his hands over his eyes. “Get their contact information. We need to ensure that they break connection with Haggar and say that she’s lost her mind and can’t be trusted! We _have_ to make sure that they won’t be supplying the production Haggar’s likely going to set up for Zarkon.”

“The reason half of them worked for us was because they didn’t trust Zarkon’s powers,” Shiro said. “We just have to ensure their safety and probably divide up our guys to protect the supplier’s in Washington. I doubt Zarkon will go that far unless he sees that we’re meddling with Haggar’s connections.”

“My guys cleared out Haggar’s warehouse, but she took a lot of what we had stashed in there while we were busy securing our supply away in case Zarkon backfired. We intercepted some of her getaway trucks and recovered most of it,” Prorok told Shiro. 

“What do you suggest we do with it? We can’t let Haggar get it. If we’re able to delay production on their end, we might still have a chance,” he said.

“We could use one of our other locations, but any buildings that were under Kogane’s name have been reclaimed by the city,” he said.

“I know a guy,” Luxia said, cautiously. “He’s got, like… a boathouse thing on the lake that’s entirely closed off and he’s got a hemp garden inside. Landlord doesn’t think twice about the power bill because she’s also a friend of mine and my guy pays the bills so it’s never been an issue. Cost of moving production there would probably be a quarter of a pound of your power.”

Shiro looked to Prorok, who stared at Luxia before hesitantly nodding. “We could look into it. That’s got to be our best bet.”

“It’s super discrete and it’s a brick building so you don’t have to worry about noise causing a ruckus with the neighbors,” she said. “It’s where big commercial fishing boats store in the winter, so it’s pretty dead in the summer. You just have to worry about fall and by November you’ll be back in service. My guy always used it to his advantage rationing out his goods in smaller portions and higher prices.”

“We’ll consider it. Thanks, Luxia,” Shiro said. She offered him a smile that showed the wrinkled dimples on her cheeks. 

  


  


“Do you suppose I could stay the night?” Keith asked, quietly, since they were both falling asleep at this point anyways. Lance got up and walked around as he made himself dinner, surprised that his powers were still up and functional, but after that, he sat and couldn’t get back up again. Keith, to his dismay, had to help him down the hallway back to his room where they both collapsed and laid there with sleep in their eyes.

“Sure. It’ll be a houseful, if you don’t mind,” Lance said. “Allura’s been staying over too.”

“That’s okay. Why’s she staying here?” he asked, and Lance shrugged because he didn’t want to admit that she was hiding from Keith’s cousin.

It was dark by the time Pidge got back, cursing and running down the hallway where they crashed into the bathroom and locked the door. Keith was so startled he nearly fell off the bed going to check on them when they heard a shriek from outside the apartment windows. Lance flinched, trying to sit up as Keith alerted him to the fact that Allura just came storming through the door. 

“Where’d they go!” she screamed, and Keith immediately pointed to the bathroom.

“Stay back!” Pidge cried, voice muffled by the door. Allura marched up to it and started hammering on the door by the time Lance tried to sit up, only to fall flat on the ground. Keith was instantly there, picking him up as Pidge shouted, “It’s for your own good!”

“What’d they do?” Lance asked, and yelped when Allura turned her furious glare onto him.

“They—hacked into my _Facebook_ , friended _Shiro_ , and made us _online official._ ”

Keith snorted, and Lance burst into laughter, clinging to Keith to keep himself up straight as Allura shrieked, “ _It’s not funny!_ Take it down, Pidge!”

“Your own good!” they yelled.

“No one goes _online official!_ ” she whined. “Now I’m gonna have to _call him—_ ”

“Shiro’s probably thrilled about this,” Keith whispered to Lance, and was instantly pegged with a furious glare from Allura.

Dealing with Pidge’s shenanigans was the last thing Allura wanted to deal with after an eight hour shift. And, knowing now that Lance was out of commission, tomorrow would be a day of desk work at the agency followed by Alterra all over again. Pidge was no better off—they happened to spend the majority of the day being Kolivan’s secretary, much to their chagrin. They were bound to act out, and did so by making her nonexistent relationship with Shiro _online official_.

She groaned, moving away from the bathroom to take out her phone and pace through the living room as she corrected Pidge’s mistake. Afterwards, Keith and Lance watched her storm out the door with her phone already halfway to her ear. She slammed it shut behind her, and stormed out to the concrete stoop where she crossed an arm over her chest and tapped her foot impatiently, listening to the line ring and ring and—

“Allura—is something wrong?” Shiro’s voice broke through the phone, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice that she realized that _she_ had just called _him_.

“No—No, nothing’s _wrong_ , per se…” she said, swaying on her feet. It was muggy out and bound to rain, and she could feel the air clinging to her clothes. “I just—Pidge has been acting up and hacked into my Facebook account. I’m not sure if you’re _aware_ that she not only friended you off of my account, but also—”

“Yeah, I got the notification,” he laughed. Tingles rushed up her arms and blossomed as goosebumps on her skin. “Looks like you deleted it, though. So I’ll just decline if you want.”

“I—” she started, pinching her fingers over her lips as she groaned. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to process, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Understandable,” he said, voice quiet. He cleared his throat, and it crackled over the line. “Well, I have a lot to prepare for. So I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you change your mind at all.”

She hummed wordlessly and hung up, muttering, “I’m already having second thoughts,” to herself as she kicked at a pebble on the concrete. She tucked her phone to her cheek and huffed to herself, thinking about Shiro, and thinking about the countless hours they spent together in just a week. A _week!_ Coran would have a fit if he heard that she was tossing around her affections to man she barely just met. One second she and Shiro were flirting at the counter, and the next she’s waltzing into his bedroom on the first date. 

Stomping her feet, she groaned and marched back into the apartment where she could properly glare at Pidge again. They were standing off in the hallway, ducking behind the wall where they couldn’t make eye contact with Allura. 

“You are _so_ dead to me,” she seethed at Pidge.

“Worth it though,” they said, and Allura bristled at the sound of Lance cackling from where he _should have been_ laying on his bed.

Lance didn’t lay back down until Pidge and Keith helped transport the kittens back into the box of towels in the bathroom. Seafoam continued to snooze on the end of Lance’s bed, which just seemed bizarre, and she didn’t even bat an eye when Lance nestled under the covers and accidentally kicked her. “I guess giving birth makes you tired,” Lance commented.

“Don’t make me punt you across the river, Lance,” Pidge said from down the hall.

“I will personally _maim you_ ,” Allura moaned from where she swooned on the couch, muttering, “Fuck my _life_ …”

Keith closed the door then and after a moment, shut off the lights. Lance tensed for a moment, remembering every other time he was pitched into _that_ level of darkness. The bed dipped next to him, and he started to pick up on the street lights beyond the curtains, and the sound of Keith whispering, “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he murmured, trying to push himself up. He relaxed into the arm that came around him, and hugged his shoulder towards Keith’s chest. Remembering that he was supposed to be ill, he coughed a little and asked for the water bottle on the end table.

They settled in for the night and, come morning, Allura left early to start her shift at the agency before having to go to Alterra, where she knows she is most likely going to be harassed by Shiro—or, more accurately, bombarded by _thoughts_ of Shiro, and the possibility that he might come in that day. Instead, though, she’s confronted by Hunk walking through the front door and noting that Lance wasn’t there.

“Hey Hunk!” Allura chimed, her smile alone enough to brighten up Hunk’s day. 

Hunk considered himself a lucky guy with good fortune around every corner. He had yet to experience turmoil, and perhaps that made him naïve, and perhaps that was what made him so optimistic—because he saw the bright side every day and couldn’t imagine a day without it. However, _not_ seeing Lance was starting to give him an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach, and realizing that Lance missed yet another day unexpectedly had him worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Hey Allura,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter as he considered how to phrase it. “I haven’t seen Lance around in a while! What’s he up to?”

“Sick, actually,” she replied, visibly wincing. “Doctors don’t know what it is. He can barely walk around the house. So he’s stuck in bed all day.”

“That’s awful,” he blurted out, shocked by it. In all the months Hunk saw Lance, the man was _never_ ill. Hunk figured until now that his immune system was supreme. “Is he looking for visitors? I wouldn’t want to drop by unexpected…”

“Oh yeah! Totally, he’d love to see you around,” she said.

His brow puckered uncertainly, and Allura asked what was worrying him. “It’s just—I gave him a bit of advice last week and I couldn’t tell if I made him angry or not. I probably sounded like his _mother_ or something saying it,” he confessed, stepping to the side so another customer could come up. He could see Allura concentrating as she counted out the change and handed it back to the woman.

She slid the register closed and turned to Hunk with a sigh. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure Lance would be happy to see you. He’s bored out of his mind—he’s never sat this still _ever_ , so he’s a bit antsy.”

Hunk laughed. He could see that—Lance was always moving even when he was standing in one place behind the cash register. It explained why Lance talked with his hands, and his expressions were so vivid and animated. 

“I’ll probably check in on him then,” he said. “But how have you been?” 

They delved into the usual chat that he always participated in. He figured something about his outward appearance presented a calm sort of exterior that invited people to vent their frustrations out. He knew about Allura’s anxiety, and was equally as surprised as her to hear that it only seemed to be rising up lately with no apparent reason as to _why_. So they talked about that and how she was coping as she made drinks and he sat on the other side of the counter, listening. 

Eventually he ordered a drink so he could get to the Public Market on time for his shift to start. He was stopped on the way out by another regular customer, and they walked out together and got distracted on the sidewalk chatting together. He would have stayed there, but his coworker called out from the other side of the street, and he yelped in alarm and hurried off to work.

At the time Hunk clocked in for work, Keith’s phone went off at the apartment where Lance was nestled against his chest, breathing deep enough for his sighs to warm Keith’s chest. 

They both groaned at the sound of Keith’s ringtone—it was some instrumental music that Keith frantically floundered to shut off. He checked the name on the screen and nearly leapt up at it. “I—I have to take this call. Sorry,” he blurted out, practically falling out of bed in his haste to answer the phone. 

He answered it and pushed the phone to his ear on his way out of the door. “What is it?” he demanded.

“I’m checking out the boathouse with Luxia today. I’d recommend you come with, because if everything pans out well I believe there are other boat warehouses in the area that you could look into,” Prorok said.

“Perfect. I’ve always wanted to own a place to store my nonexistent _yacht_ ,” Keith laughed. “I’ll head over there. Send me the address.”

Prorok chuckled on the other end and said, “Sir, I think this is going to work out well. And Shiro’s been looking into recovering Haggar’s data from Ko’s resources he left behind for you. Knowing Ko, he would have kept extra copies of everything anyone did, so it’s likely in there somewhere.”

“Okay. Thanks for the reassurance,” Keith said. “I’ll see you soon.”

They hung up and Keith went back to the open bedroom door where he could see Lance still half-passed out. The curtains did little to push the sunlight out, so it doused the walls and left a shadow over the bed where Lance nestled his head up and looked over at Keith. “Are you leaving?” Lance asked.

“I am. I have work to do.”

“Right. I always forget that being rich comes with a lot of work. At least, that’s how it _should_ go,” he murmured, and Keith laughed, muttering, “I’m not _that_ rich.”

Lance gave him a bland look and deadpanned, “You traveled the _world—_ ”

“I still _worked_ , Lance,” he laughed. “I’d stay until I saved enough for air travel and first few months rent. My parents pitched in though, so that helped.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t staying in _mansions_ or _penthouses_ ,” Keith said, chuckling as he bent down to lace up his boots. “I had friends around those areas, too, so I sometimes just stayed with them.”

“Friends?”

“Well—people who used to go to my high school,” he sighed. “So not really friends. Acquaintances. I wasn’t very _social_ in high school.”

“I’ve gathered,” Lance giggled, tipping his head up as Keith leaned over him. Keith smiled at Lance’s soft, open expression, and his half-lidded eyes. “Are you gonna kiss me goodbye or what?” he asked.

Keith _knew_ it was toxic to depend on Lance like this. He was hoping his affections would sputter out by the time Lance talked to Hunk, but he knew that no matter what happened, getting rid of his thoughts of Lance would be impossible. He never _once_ developed such an extreme liking for someone in such a short period of time. Even though a month ago he never thought of Lance, that time seemed so far gone. It was a completely different era.

Keith pecked Lance on the lips, tasting the hint of both of their morning breaths. It was enough, and he cupped his hand around the one Lance raised up to comb through his bedhead. “Are you gonna go back to your apartment after work?” Lance whispered.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, though the answer was _definitely not_. But he wouldn’t pressure Lance into letting him stay a second night.

“Well, I’ll maybe see you later, okay? Text me,” Lance said, and Keith hummed in agreement before leaving the apartment.

Lance spent the day in a tired haze of Netflix and food. Pidge had desk work to do that evening, so he was left alone in the apartment with the kittens. He heaved himself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom where they were mewling in the box. He lifted them out one by one to nurse off of a sleeping Seafoam, who seemed to have jumped out of the box at one point during the night. He cleaned out the dirty towels and refilled the water and food bowls.

He could barely stand straight enough to pee, which was infuriating, but he did it anyways and got around to washing his hands and making food for himself. And he totally would have made food—but that required reaching up to one of the top shelves when his feet were barely functional. He tripped and fell into the wall where he just gave up and slid down to the floor. The cereal cabinet was right next to him, so he pulled out a box of Froot Loops and ate from it because he tried to get up again and failed. He stayed there for a good half hour.

The buzzer in the living room went off, and so he was forced to get up again and use the wall as his support down the hall. He reached the door and used whatever remained of his strength to grip the handle—it was a miracle that the door didn’t jam that time around, because he could barely turn the damn thing, let alone open it. 

The door to the apartment was directly outside of Lance’s door, so he could see Hunk standing there waiting to be let in. Lance hesitated at the threshold, and realized that he was just standing there like an idiot so he hurried forward and pushed the inner door open. 

“Hunk—what are you doing here?” he asked, startled.

“Visiting you. And what are _you_ doing out of bed? Allura said you were on bedrest,” Hunk said, and lifted up his hand to alert Lance to the bunch of flowers in his hand.

Lance swallowed hard. “I’m the only one home so I had to get the door, you doofus,” Lance laughed as he reached for the flowers. “Thanks,” he said, probably blushing to the tips of his ears.

“I have a lot of flowers at my disposal,” he replied with a dazzling grin. Lance turned away from it, touching a hand to his cheek as he shuffled over the threshold of his apartment. He nearly tripped over it, but Hunk caught him by the elbow and held him up. “Thanks.”

“No problem. So… what’s going on with the whole _illness thing_?” Hunk asked as he closed the apartment door after them. 

Lance’s chest hurt from how hard his heart was beating. It lifted into his throat and swelled up with everything that could possibly go wrong. He was left with just himself and Hunk and the horde of kittens in the bathroom, and he seized that as an opportunity to delay what he _knew_ he had to get off his chest in order to relax his beating heart. 

“Lance?” Hunk asked, laughing a little. 

“Hm?” 

“I asked about the illness thing.”

“Oh! Right—I’m just… really weak and shaky. It’s not contagious or anything,” he said. “But now that you’re here, you wanna see the kittens?” 

Hunk yelped in excitement, and hurried to the bathroom where Lance pointed to. The door was still open, and one of the kittens managed to leak out of it and stumble blindly out into the hallway. Hunk bent down and scooped her up, cooing under his breath about how cute she was, _yes she was!_

Lance settled in to sit against the hallway wall with the flowers on his lap as Hunk coaxed the rest of the kittens out of their nests by calling to them and fake-mewling with them. Lance smiled sleepily at the way Hunk practically collected kittens in his lap. Seafoam walked past them without sparing them another glance.

“Seafoam seems to have calmed down,” Hunk commented, amused by her constant angry stare.

“Pidge is convinced that she’s still tired from giving birth,” Lance said, laughing. “She doesn’t have the energy to fight us right now.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed, nestling a kitten to the crook of his neck.

They settled into silence, and Lance took the opportunity to watch Hunk as he pet every last one of the five kittens on his lap. Hunk was wearing a plain black t-shirt with a yellow collar and hem, and it fit snuggly to his massive biceps that Lance just wanted to snuggle up around. He was starting to come to terms with the fact that if he dated Hunk, he’d forever remain guilty if he ever saw Keith again. He wasn’t sure if he could stay friends with Keith without feeling like a total dick.

Lance rubbed a hand over his eyes, the words nearly slipping out at the same moment Hunk said, “You okay over there? You look kinda pale.”

“Just tired,” he confessed. “But Hunk—I’m wondering if I could ask you something.”

“No wondering required. Shoot,” Hunk said, lifting his eyes up from the kittens and pegging Lance with them, and _hot damn_ how could Lance concentrate when he was looking into that beautiful face?

But seeing Hunk’s perfect complexion was enough to convince Lance that _yes_ , he totally wanted to date this perfect man.

“I’ve… been thinking for a while,” Lance started, realizing that he didn’t even have a script prepared, “about you. And I’m convinced that I’ve lost my _mind_ or something because every time you come into Alterra, you take another piece of my heart and I just—I _really_ like you Hunk. And not in the ‘friendship’ way. Does that make sense? Is that too forward?”

“Not at all—to the forward part,” Hunk said, voice breaking as he laughed nervously. “I… had a hunch, I guess? But Lance—”

There it is. The fatal ‘but’ that would rip his heart in two.

“—I’m actually engaged.” Lance couldn’t keep his eyes up. He just hummed in acknowledgement, not fully processing it until Hunk set a kitten down and twisted around his seashell necklace. He separated the shells and held out a ring to Lance. “We don’t like to flaunt it around because we can’t afford the wedding yet. So we’ve just been engaged for a little over a year.”

“What’s his name? Have you mentioned it?” Lance asked.

“Yeah—her name’s Shay. We met at the gym. She’s actually a yogi there and we worked out together a lot before I even asked her out on a date. She was recently in California for a yoga instruction event,” he explained. Lance thought numbly, _So that’s who Hunk’s usual workout partner is_.

“Are you even bisexual?” Lance asked. _Did I even have a chance with you?_

“No. But I just have a lot of love to give, so sorry if I led you on. I really didn’t know,” he confessed, plucking the kittens out of his lap. “I’m _really_ sorry, Lance. I—I should have mentioned Shay sooner. But I really do like hanging out with you.”

Lance nodded mutely, and looked up only as Hunk stood. “I should probably get going. I’ll… see you around?” Hunk said.

“Yeah. I’ll see you,” he replied, feeling his eyes swell up the second Hunk was through the living room and out the front door.

 _A year_ , Lance thought, pushing his head into his hands. He spent an entire year hopelessly pining after a _straight guy_. He and Allura were _so sure_ —

 _No_ , Lance told himself, _Don’t blame it on his sexuality. He probably wouldn’t have dated you anyways, gay or not_.

The tears spilled over his palms and between his fingers as the aching in his chest ruptured up his throat in the form of a sob. It hurt to even cry as hard as he did, bent over his knees as the kittens bumped into his ankles and hips. He whined into his arms at the pain of losing the thousands of fantastic, fake memories he’d made of what it’d be like to date Hunk. He missed whatever comfort those thoughts gave him about being able to date someone who would be the perfect version of everything. Logically, now, he realized that no one could have even provided flawless elegance like the frame he put Hunk into. 

He tried to calm his breathing, but it just caused him to pant harder, chest heaving with the effort it took to breathe beyond his stuffy nose and red eyes. He stayed there until his nose demanded a tissue, and so he crawled into the bathroom around the kittens and grabbed the box of Kleenex from over the toilet seat.

He curled up on the tiled floors where his sweltering cheeks could cool off. One-by-one he lifted the kittens back into their box to distract himself, like counting sheep, and he was able to breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: Sorry I had to do this to you Lance.
> 
> Also idk if you guys picked up on the hints because I REEEALLY snuck em in there, like, hidden in paragraph blocks and stuff. But Hunk has that seashell necklace that Shay made for him, and then when Hunk asked Lance to work out with him because his usual partner wasn't there. Shay lives on the East Side, and there were mentions of Lance being like "But he doesn't live around there, so Lance wondered what Hunk was doing, lingering around such a dangerous neighborhood" and so Hunk HAS his own apartment, but he literally spends every night with Shay when she's there. But because of the whole trip to Cali, he's been staying at his regular apartment, and visiting her house to water the plants and stuff.
> 
>  **Also, I started a new quick fic.** It won't be more than 3 chapters long, but... it features Acxa and Ezor from Lotor's gal squad and reuses the magick from my old fic, And Other Curious Creatures. You can find my fav girls bein gay and accidentally holding hands [here XD](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11706759/chapters/26363064)


	14. like every other time

Pidge didn’t ask questions when they came back to the apartment to the sound of Lance practically wheezing in the bathroom. They got a glass of water and brought it to him from where he was laying on the tile in a blubbering, bleary-eyed mess. He sat up long enough to drink it, and felt a portion of his usual self coming back, if only slightly. He blew his nose and rubbed his eyes clear, unable to look at Pidge because he could sense their eyes on him.

Pidge rubbed their hand over his arm and told him to drink more. He wasn't sure how much he could stomach, but he did it anyways. “Have you eaten anything today?” they asked.

“Cereal…”

“It’s literally eight at night, Lance,” they said. “I’m gonna make you something. What do you want?”

He sniffed, the burning sensation in his throat rising up to his eyes as he cried, “Eggs in a basket…?” It was probably the one meal he excelled at considering he made it most mornings for himself. He’d been trying to grab the bread when he fell that afternoon.

Pidge tugged on his arm and forced him up. They grabbed the tissue box and started for the door, and Lance let them wrap an arm around his waist. Together, they walked down to the kitchen where, before he could even consider sitting back down, he pulled his arms up around Pidge and just sagged there for a while, his head against their’s.

He had to let go of them eventually, so he did, and he went to the refrigerator where he retrieved a bag of frozen peas, sat on the counter, and put it over his eyes as he tipped his head back on the cabinets. Pidge didn’t question it because they could probably tell just how swollen his eyes were from crying, and putting frozen things on them made him feel like he was in the tundra without goggles on skiing down a massive ice avalanche. 

So, it was debatably better than sobbing on the bathroom floor like he just had the worst fucking night out at a house party.

The smell of eggs on the stove started up, and sizzled in the pan Pidge centered over the flame. They turned music on, setting their phone on the counter for them both to hear. Soon, Lance’s sniffles didn’t seem all that important, even if the pain in his chest demanded far more than music and food to heal it. The apartment wasn’t bleak anymore, though, and with Pidge there, he at least didn’t feel alone.

“Here you go,” Pidge said, bumping their hip against Lance’s knees. He set the peas aside and rubbed the moisture away as it settled over his eyelids. 

“Thanks,” he said, voice stuffy as he took the plate. 

He sat on the counter while Pidge went to put their shit away in their room. Each bite of eggs and toast was painful and hard to swallow because he still felt that tense urge to cry in the back of his throat when he thought of Hunk. How long he spent ranting to Allura behind the counter about how perfect Hunk was. He felt ridiculous and fuzzy and full of gross feelings he shouldn’t have anymore. Why did he have to go and shatter that image of perfection by ruining every chance he might have had of being a part of it?

He liked the fantasies better now. He was stupid to think that they could ever be true.

“What are these?” Pidge asked from down the hall. They came through the archway to the kitchen, holding up the now-wilted bunch of flowers from Hunk. “Is this about…? Keith?” they asked.

Lance shook his head, pulling a knee up to press his mouth to it. “No, Keith hasn’t been by today,” he said, lips quivering. He sucked his lip between his teeth before letting it out with a chilled sigh. “Hunk came b-by a-and I _told him—_ ”

“He wasn’t interested?” Pidge finished, and he could sense their eyes getting wider by the second before he shrugged. “Well, what was it?”

“He’s _straight_ , a- _and_ he’s engaged,” he stammered out, putting his half-finished plate down. “I feel so _stupid_. How could I not _tell_ —?”

“He’s _never_ worn a ring—”

“He has i-it on a necklace he always wears,” Lance sighed, pushing his hands to his eyes to keep them from leaking tears again. He could already feel the liquid collecting on the palms of his hands. “How could I be so _stupid_?”

“Lance don’t say that—”

“I should have _known—!_ ”

“Lance _I_ didn’t even know, and we’ve already determined that I’m the smartest one here,” they said, their laugh strained as they came to stand in front of Lance. He could see the flowers wilting in their hands, and then blurred by tears as they put them in the trash bin. “You aren’t _stupid_ , Lance,” they added in their gentle, quiet tone that just made the tears come harder and faster than ever. 

He wished Pidge would just yell at him and say that he was wrong all along, but as soon as they put on that gentle, soothing tone, he couldn’t help himself. Everything that helped him keep the sobs down broke, and he covered his face so they couldn’t see him cry. He wasn’t sure if Pidge had _ever_ seen him cry so hard before, but this seemed to be the worst by far. It trumped every other seemingly horrible moment Pidge saw him go through. He would probably take the pain easier if it hadn’t sunk its roots into every part of his brain for over a year. 

It was in the midst of blubbering in front of Pidge that they both missed the sound of the door to the apartment opening, and he hiccuped at the sound of someone’s voice hurrying from the other end of the hall. 

“Lance—? Is everything okay?” Keith’s voice sounded.

Frantically, Lance wiped his tears off on his shirt and scrubbed his hands over his cheeks to clear the tear tracks. Whatever the case, his nose was still red, and his eyes were even more so. He looked at the ground where Keith’s feet came into view, and then over to where Pidge was standing in front of his knees. 

“What’s going on?” Keith asked, hurrying to stand beside Pidge. Lance covered his face, which subconsciously happened to be the side Keith saw the most of. He hastily plucked out his septum piercing and dumped it on the counter so he could grab a tissue and blow his nose better. 

_God, I probably look like a mess_ , he moaned internally, thankful for the brief distraction.

Keith held his hands over Lance’s knees as Pidge leant up against the counter beside him. “Pidge, you tell him,” Lance muttered.

“Hunk came by,” they said. “He brought get-well flowers and stuff and turns out he’s straight and he’s engaged.”

All three of them fell quiet as Lance sniffled, breath coming in short, quick gasps as he tried to sigh. He just ended up hiccuping again before blowing his nose and adding it to the bundle starting to collect on the counter next to him. 

“I c-can’t be-believe I spent a _year_ pining after a _straight guy_ ,” Lance whined, looking up at the ceiling and catching a glimpse of Keith’s face on the way there. _Shit_. “Don’t look at me like that,” Lance told him. “I don’t want pity.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith murmured, and Lance watched as his jaw ticked beneath his ear as he clenched his teeth together. He brought his hand to where Lance held his over the mound of snotty tissues. He linked their fingers together and brought Lance’s hand up against his chest. “I thought he was at _least_ bisexual. No straight guy is _that_ nice to people.”

Pidge snorted, and Lance surprised himself by bursting out laughing, covering his mouth as he did so. When he felt so miserable, laughing seemed to be the _last_ thing he wanted to do. Keith offered an encouraging smile, and Lance smiled at him.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“No problem,” Keith said. “So he’s engaged. To who?”

“Her name’s Shay,” Lance sighed, clearing his throat. “Sounds like she’s into yoga and stuff. She’s probably hella buff too. _God_ , I bet they make an amazing couple to just stare at.”

“That _is_ something you would do,” Pidge commented. “You used to rate customers that would come into Alterra.”

Keith laughed, raising Lance’s hand up to his lips. “What’s your rating scale?” he asked.

“Out of twelve, because Hunk’s a twelve on a scale of ten so I had to change the whole rating system,” Lance confessed. “I think Shiro’s, like, an _eleven_.”

“Oh come on,” Keith laughed.

“What? I’m serious! I would not be surprised if he looked familiar because he happened to star in a porn film I’ve seen,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Being an emotional mess tended to erase his entire filter, and suddenly Pidge was on the ground screaming as Lance turned beet-red. Keith covered his face with his hand and turned away to recover from the comment as Lance sputtered, “H-Hey! I was _totally_ kidding—!”

“What makes it so hilarious is because I know that you’re _not kidding_!” Pidge wheezed on the floor. 

Lance groaned, but it turned into laughter as Keith sighed, hand on his hip, looking at the ground where Pidge had their arms thrown over their eyes, practically sobbing. “I would _not_ be surprised either, though,” Keith confessed after a while. “Who knows what he did during the six years I spent traveling?”

Lance punched him in the arm, gasping at the comment before they both dissolved into ridiculous giggles that lightened the heavy feeling that was once in Lance’s chest.

That night, after Lance ate enough to fill up on the two meals he missed that day, Keith helped him back to his room and helped Pidge clean the box the kittens were kept in. As they nursed, and as Pidge got ready for bed, Keith went to tell Lance that he’d be back in an hour or two. Keith left the apartment after waving to Pidge through the mirror.

On the way down the concrete stoop, he dialed up Shiro’s number and said, 

“What’s Hunk Garrett’s address? I’m paying him a visit.”

  


  


Just before Keith’s call, Shiro was busy staking out Alterra from the back alley where he waited for Allura to take out the last bit of trash for that evening. He relaxed against the seat of his motorcycle as he lit up a cigarette and lifted it to his lips. He counted the number of exhales he took that caused a stream of smoke to ascend past the rooftops of the buildings…

He held his breath when he heard the back door of Alterra open.

A stranger—one of the kitchen employees—turned the corner and lifted the lid of the dumpster. The girl waved to Shiro, who plucked out his cigarette and waved back with his free hand. As the girl wandered back inside, he looked away with a scowl and a huff, the smoke passing between his lips. He scraped his boot over the ground and kicked a gravel pebble away from the tires of his bikes. He spent a minute doing that—at least—before the door opened again and he heard an irritated,

“You can’t be lingering around here, Shiro. You’re making my coworkers nervous.” 

His attention snapped up, and he pushed off his bike to meet Allura halfway. She had her hands on her hips and looked _oh so furious with him_. He figured he could do with just about any expression she threw his way, and his insides melted at every one of them without fail.

“You look nice today,” he commented.

She glared at him, practically throwing her fists down in preparation for a fight. “I’m not here for your flattery. I want you to _get out_ and _leave_ , and I don’t want to deal with whatever _bullshit_ you concoct to keep us away from—” She stopped, as if the name alone would bring the wrath whatever nonexistent backup Shiro brought. 

“It’s not _bullshit_ , Allura,” he insisted, “but I didn’t come here to fight with you about who I work for.”

“Then what is it?”

“I just—” His phone rang. Allura threw her arms up and paced away from him, but at least she didn’t storm back into the shop. He lifted his phone out of his pocket with a groan, but stopped at Keith’s name. “I—I need to take this.”

“By all means,” she mocked. He narrowed his eyes at her, and figured she only stayed simply to see if he’d give anything away over the phone.

He answered Keith’s call, but it was over with almost as soon as it started. He told Keith to call one of the techs to search for Hunk’s address because _how was he supposed to know?_ He didn’t spend all day with them anyways. He had better things to do, like trying to convince Allura that he _wasn’t a bad guy_.

And now he wasn’t exactly sure which side he fought for now as he lowered his phone and looked wide-eyed at Allura. She donned an alarmed expression and said, “What? What is it?”

“We need to move,” he said, flicking his cigarette to the side. “Is your shift done?”

“What? No, why—”

“My boss is about to kill Hunk. Either clock out now or call up one of your workers to do it—we don’t have much time,” he insisted, and Allura looked frantically back at the door before doing a double-take. 

Shiro grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her over to the motorcycle as she cried out, “Wait— _Hunk?_ Why would he—” Her _Oh shit_ expression said it all. 

Allura yanked off her apron and as Shiro circled his bike back to the alleyway opening, the back door opened and her coworker let out a cry of surprise at seeing Allura on the back of a motorcycle tossing her apron to her. “Clock out for me! Something came up!” she shouted, but her voice was mostly caught in the breeze of Shiro skidding out onto the street and to the corner of the Public Market where they’d eventually track the route Hunk usually took home from work when he wasn’t going to the East Side to stay over at Shay’s.

It was around this time that Allura dialed up Pidge and screamed over the roar of Shiro’s engine, “ _PIDGE! Get to the agency, grab our gear, and meet us at Hunk’s apartment!_ ”

“Our gear? Hunk’s apartment? Who’s ‘us’?” Pidge blurted out after spitting out their toothpaste. They scrubbed their face off on a towel and hurried out of the bathroom. 

“ _Shiro! Kogane’s enroute to Hunk’s place and we don’t have much time! Call Kolivan!_ ”

With that, she hung up on Pidge, who grumbled, “Why am I always the messenger owl?” They hurried to tug on their shoes in the living room as Lance shuffled out to his door and watched. “Stay here, Lance. Allura and I are gonna take care of a Kogane problem,” they said.

“I heard you mention Hunk’s apartment. Is Kogane going after Hunk again?” Lance asked, his wide, distressed eyes looking a whole lot like a kicked puppy’s. “What sort of beef does he have with Hunk?”

“Like I fucking know! Stay here,” they demanded, and was out the door with Kolivan on the line to nab a car for them and their gear. 

But unlike Allura and Pidge, Lance was a bit more rebellious than them. He continued to keep his gear in that athletic bag Kolivan always insisted he get rid of, and he went to drag it out from under his bed the instant Pidge disappeared. He kicked out of his pajama bottoms and threw his shirt off over his head before shimmying into his skin-tight black uniform with the tough elastic exterior that mimicked the pattern of enlarged cells. He fastened the cap over his head and felt transformed into someone who could actually _walk for once_.

He nabbed the other half of Shiro’s power stash and clutched it in his fist before bolting to the door. He practically tripped down the stoop, landed on the sidewalk, and booked it in the direction of Hunk’s house. On foot in this current state, he’d get there in fifteen minutes, but the second he dumped the contents of Shiro’s packet into his mouth, he could make it in eight.

Allura was running up the steps of Hunk’s apartment around the time Lance was halfway there. Shiro parked his motorcycle across the street as she clicked the buzzer frantically for Hunk’s flat. “C’mon, c’mon, please be there, please be there,” she chanted, and gasped in relief as she saw Hunk coming over from the other side of the foggy glass.

The second Hunk cracked open the door saying, “Allura—?” she pushed through and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out the door.

“No time to explain! We need to get you out of here!” she shouted. “Shiro!”

“On it!” Shiro started up the motorcycle again as Allura and Hunk booked it across the street. 

“But I left my door unlocked—!” Hunk whined, reluctantly mounting the motorcycle just as they heard the screeching of tires on asphalt down the road behind them. Allura turned in time to see an unfamiliar black vehicle speeding their way. “Who is—?”

“ _Shiro!_ ” Allura shouted.

“What about you?” Shiro asked, scooting forward to make room for Hunk. 

“I’m not a fucking _damsel in distress,_ you _asshole!_ ” she screamed, slapping the back of the seat before Shiro kicked the motorcycle into gear and swerved off onto the road with a roar.

The motorcycle tipped as it curved past the car in front of it, and Hunk was screaming before they even started moving. He scrambled to hang on to a total stranger’s torso and smelled smoke on his leather jacket. “Who— _eep!_ —who are you, exactly?” Hunk asked, voice quivering as the man flicked on his blinker for a split second before skidding to the side, yelling for Hunk to stay still as he dragged his boot across the asphalt and narrowly avoided fishtailing into a parked car. Hunk whimpered, glancing over his shoulder at where they gained some distance from the black car coming after them.

“The name’s Shiro,” the man shouted behind him. “Nice to meet you, but—” 

Hunk wailed as they darted across the main drag and in between traffic. Cars honked behind them and a loud, blaring one followed behind them where the black car screeched to a halt between the two lanes of steady traffic. Just as they were whipping around the next corner, he felt the back wheel lift behind them. For a moment he swore he was entirely airborne, hearing the wheel screech with the effort to escape whatever was holding on to it. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro seethed, gunning it with all his motorcycle had in it. The engine rumbled beneath them, even as Hunk slid forward as the motorcycle went nearly vertical with the ground.

Hunk screamed as he tried to slide off, whining straight into Shiro’s ear as he toed the ground. Just as he did, Shiro shouted, “ _Don’t!_ Stay on the bike. I’ve got this.”

He stopped pressing for a moment, and the motorcycle went limp as it started backpedaling on its own towards the traffic. Hunk screamed, preparing to ditch the ship, but suddenly he was lurched back by the engine screaming, and the bike darting forward and out of the grasp of… very dark… _nothingness_. “Oh Jesus, I’m gonna be sick,” Hunk moaned, tipping his forehead onto the collar of Shiro’s jacket as he realized why the feeling of weightlessness felt so nauseating to him.

They screeched around the corner and wove between Milwaukee’s narrow college streets until they were whipping down the boulevard parallel to the English department. Kogane’s black vehicle came wheeling around next corner, sending them to a skidding halt as Shiro pulled a swift Y-turn and drove straight onto the sidewalk to avoid Kogane emerging from the driver’s door. 

There came a shadow over the top of them that had Hunk screaming, “ _LORD SAVE ME!_ ”as they barely scraped by a flying car that scarcely touched a college student’s lawn before it was flying towards them, taking out tree branches on the way. They jumped the curb, and Hunk went flying into Shiro’s back, practically sucking the air out of him with how tightly he gripped onto Shiro’s torso at this point.

Just as they were backtracking, Shiro cursed at the sight of a familiar black figure dropping to the concrete a block ahead of them. He braked hard, banking to the right to avoid the only Defender that could have made a fall that high, even after having the power completely sucked out of him. “You fucking _idiot—_ ” Shiro hissed at Lance, who ignored him and went for the car next to him.

He jabbed his hand through the window and used the handhold on the roof to launch it in the direction of where Kogane was pulling on the shadows beneath cars and trees and sapping it out of every object near him. It was past the time Allura would have left Alterra, and it was dark enough now that his own shadow swelled into an ink-black, endless pit. He raised tendrils from it that grabbed hold of the airborne object Lance flew at him.

“ _Move!_ Get Hunk out of here!” Lance shouted at Shiro. “Pidge is on their way—”

“You aren’t even _functional right now_! How are you—” The sample he gave him. Even with the powder, Lance wouldn’t last too long. Even with the _whole packet_ , Lance wouldn’t last two minutes the second Kogane got hold of him with his shadows. “That’s not enough power for you, L—” he broke off just as something came soaring at them through the side mirror on Shiro’s motorcycle. Hunk turned and shrieked at the pickup truck being hurled in their direction.

Shiro bolted forward, and Lance covered his position with both hands raised. The bed of the truck hit him first, denting under his arms as his feet skidded over the asphalt. His joints seemed to splinter, but at least he stopped the truck long enough for Shiro to escape the epicenter of the crash. 

But he only seemed to last long enough to do that. 

The truck threw him with it, and he went tumbling—skidding—across the asphalt. It tore at the weak points in his suit, and ripped through the palms of his hands as he tried to hold himself down, heaving with the effort to get his lungs functioning again after being flattened like that. His knees were on fire, bleeding through the fabric of his suit as he raised up to see Kogane just a few paces away, hovering from the ground by the blackhole that consumed him entirely—all except for the helmet of his that reflected the dying sunlight in the sky.

Car alarms blared behind him, and he could hear the police sirens rising up with it. He imagined at this point, Kolivan was getting more powers on the team to deal with this bullshit.

“You always seem to _break my momentum_ ,” Kogane seethed as Lance panted from behind the cover of his mask. Even with the thin breathing material over his mouth that was practically see-through, he couldn’t catch his breath. 

The second he did, though, Kogane shoved him to the ground, smothering him into the concrete. Every part of his body was aching to be _left alone_. Lance was sure that after his mental pummeling-session, his body probably hated him just as much for putting himself through this sort of torture. The second Kogane lifted his face from the ground, he knew what came next, and his swollen eyes watered as Kogane reached a hand out through the covering of his shadows.

“I want to see your face when I kill you this time,” Kogane hissed through the speakers on his helmet, gripping the top of his mask and tugging on it until it loosened from Lance’s chin—

“ _No!_ ” someone screamed, and Lance imagined that they were incredibly familiar. He could see a bit of green reflect on Kogane’s helmet as he yanked off Lance’s mask when Pidge screamed, “ _LANCE!_ ”

Lance imagined that by now, he really should be able to breathe, but the dark enclosure Kogane pitched him in reminded him of every other time he found himself in this situation. It reminded him of every time he turned off his bedroom light for sleep, and practically leapt from the door to his mattress in fear of whatever lurked under his bed. It reminded him of Hunk confessing that he always had a fear of the dark, and how it used to _suffocate him_ whenever he went into his parent’s basement to grab something for them.

He closed his eyes and pretended he was trying to sleep as he waited for Kogane to solidify his insides and push it out through his skin like putty in a machine. 

“Just _do it already!_ ” he screamed, opening up his eyes to angry tears, and the fact that he was completely and totally alone on the street. 

Lance fell forward onto his hands and knees, realizing that the black vehicle far down the street left no evidence of it ever being there. It all held the vague memory of some dream he never had, or was experiencing at that very moment when a bolt of green shot out from the left and sent Pidge sliding in front of him, on their knees trying to lift him up off the ground.

“Lance—Lance, you’re okay. Oh my God,” they cried, lunging at him and grabbing him by the shoulders. “You’re such an idiot oh my God. I couldn’t run fast enough I thought I was just about to witness you get _murdered_ … Iverson always said I-I was _shit at running…_ ” 

And suddenly, they really were crying.

Lance let them cry their tears into his exposed hair as he plucked his mask up from the ground where Kogane dropped it. That seemed to be evidence enough that Kogane really was there, along with the aching feeling he always left in Lance’s chest. “I-Is he gone?” Lance said, and Pidge nodded against his head as the police sirens grew deafening, and were now circling the block on the very edge of the University of Milwaukee campus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK if I made this clear or not (probably not) but essentially Lance showed up first because Pidge had to deal with Kolivan before ever making it to the scene on time.


	15. it's the least you can do

Keith grabbed a duffle, clothes, toiletries, and several books before leaving and locking his apartment door for what he hoped was the last time ever. He couldn’t go back there without feeling like every second Lance spent in there was another second where Keith too head-over-heals to see that look of dreadful resignation in Lance’s eyes. 

He left his car behind that night and walked south in the direction of the bridge that would take him closer to the boatyard. The second he was over the water, he chucked his phone over the railing and thought, _Good fucking riddance_.

Even in the dark, Milwaukee was always brighter than the stars. It was the reason why you had to go five hours north to see the Milky Way and not the faint orange hue on the horizon that was a telltale sign of a city on its way. He hoped that in his shocked misery, his shadows would just swallow him whole whenever he passed an alleyway or dark corner and thought of the other times the _Blue Defender_ stopped him from killing Hunk.

It was Lance all along. 

Keith hesitated at the peak of the bridge’s arc and shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes. He pushed against them to keep himself from _screaming_ at the irony of it. Not only was Lance the reason he wanted to kill Hunk, but Lance was also the reason Keith never could. He never even _considered_ —

But why would he consider Lance as the Blue Defender? He always assumed the Blue Defender would naturally have a heavier-set look to him, but he supposed whatever uniform Lance had from the agency buffed up the size of his skinny arms. That train of thought immediately directed him to the other two—

He remembered seeing Shiro carry the Blue Defender into a vehicle. He _knew_ it was Lance. Shiro _knew it_. Keith couldn’t have possibly considered staying as close as he was to Lance if Shiro ever told him, but even then, he loathed the fact that Shiro kept it from him. He knew Shiro did it to protect him from ultimate self-loathing, but…

It certainly hadn’t stopped him from nearly killing Lance on two separate occasions.

But Lance was as fine as he could be now. 

Lance could be found unconscious in bed where Kolivan laid him so Allura could heal him while he was still. The reason he couldn’t fucking catch his breath was because of a _killer_ bruise to several of his ribs from the car crashing into him. Without the full effect of his powers, he couldn’t sustain damage as well, and Kolivan said he was surprised that Lance hadn’t broken his neck. 

“You’re lucky to be alive, McClain,” Kolivan huffed at the doorway. “Don’t heal everything, Allura. Leave one of his ribs be.”

“Why?” she said.

“A reminder that he shouldn’t have gone out there in the first place. He’s injured and out of commission until his powers come back. Even then I’m suspending him for using _raw power_.” Kolivan swiped the baggy off the end table, and Lance turned away from it, eyes glassy as he swallowed hard. “You thought I wouldn’t recognize one of Ko’s sample packets? Not only did you use raw power, but you had to have gotten it from _someone Kogane knows_.”

“Not now, Kolivan,” Allura sighed, and Lance was grateful, even though he knew it was just because she wanted to prevent Kolivan from knowing about Shiro. “Lance just needs some rest. He doesn’t need a lecture right now.”

Kolivan eyed them ruthlessly before turning on his heels and leaving. A moment later, Lance flinched at the sound of the door slamming, only to sigh in relief at the weight over his lungs being lifted slightly. He took as deep of a breath as he could manage before wincing, lifting a hand to where it hurt most. Unfortunately, though, Allura left it be and went to where deep, jet-black bruises peppered his forearms. The disgusting road burn on his hands made them stiff, itchy, and oozing moisture. His wrists where just as much of a disaster, so she started around there. 

“So it seems you’re siding with Kolivan after all,” Lance sighed, laughing morosely only to groan at the agony of it. “I’ve never broken a rib before.”

“It’s just bruised.”

“So you’re saying that if it was broken it’d hurt _more than this?_ ” he moaned, throwing his head back down furiously. He could feel his arms throbbing. “Could you hand me my phone?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I want to call Keith and see if he can stay the night. What? Don’t give me that motherly look. That always startles me when you do that,” he whined, reaching feebly for the phone he left on his dresser.

Allura stared at him, feeling the weight of what she wanted to say sucking her tongue down her throat. She couldn’t do that to Lance—she couldn’t believe Keith did _this_ to Lance. As much as she wanted to tell him, she wouldn’t be able to stand sitting there, watching him cope with it. 

“You’re _injured_ and Keith is going to wonder what happened to you,” she told him sternly. Keith’s name felt and tasted like lead in her mouth. Why was everything so complicated now? _Avonaco would have a fit if he knew everything we did_ , she thought. “Besides, you just need to rest. You can… call him in the morning.”

“Yeah?” he whimpered, puppy-eyes and all. 

“Stop that. Now give me your other arm,” she demanded, shimmering hands clasping over his bruises with a hiss.

Lance heard someone’s phone going off in the other room, and turned as it came closer and he heard Pidge singing, “ _Sí, sabes que ya llevo un rato mirándote! Tengo—que bilar—contigo hoy—!_ ”as they sashayed into the room holding kittens in either hand. They couldn’t dance for the life of them, so obviously Lance had to laugh, which just caused his abdomen to rupture in pain that he pushed to the back of his mind as Pidge sang Despacito to him like he’d done to them more times than he could count.

Allura laughed and accepted one of the kittens as Pidge deposited the other on his chest. Pidge held their phone over their head and tried to keep the rhythm in their hips but it just wasn’t working. Lance felt infinitely better after Pidge shut off their phone and said, “Better?”

“ _Much_ better. Thank you for that,” he giggled, letting the kitten nestle over his neck as Pidge reached over and ruffled his hair. 

“I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning,” they said.

“Bright and early?”

“As if. I’m sleeping the fuck in,” they laughed. “See ya, Allura.”

“Yeah, see ya,” she said, watching Pidge leave before realizing that she was still healing Lance’s already-healed arm. She dropped it and brushed her hands off on her lap before rising. “I should—I need to get going.”

“What? So soon? I thought you were staying the night, it’s really late and dark out,” Lance said, and by this point Allura knew all of their fear of the dark stemmed from Keith terrorizing them with it.

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “I’ll call Shiro to pick me up.”

“So suddenly you two are best buds now because he swept Hunk off on his motorcycle,” he jested, laughing until he saw Allura’s scowl. “Right. Not funny. Have fun with Shiro. Tell him I say hi.”

“I’m going to maim him for giving you that power before I get around to that,” she said. “I can’t believe you fucking took _pure power_. Do you realize how dangerous that is? With you already on the patches?”

“I don’t want to be lectured right now, okay?” Lance whined, twisting onto his side away from her. He groaned under the tension in his abdomen, and stifled it until Allura shut his bedroom door on her way out.

Allura used her spare key to lock the front door of their apartment before leaving the building and dialing up Shiro’s number. She didn’t have to wait more than one ring. “Allura—Where’s Lance? Is he okay? I swear I tried to stop him—”

“He’s fine. I just finished healing him. I left him with a bruised rib because he deserves it for using your _goddamn power_ ,” she seethed into her phone, and she could sense him wincing on the other end of the line. “Are you _fucking serious?_ Why would you give him power?”

“It wasn’t meant for _this!_ I didn’t expect him to use it to _fight_ ,” he insisted. “Look—where are you right now? I can come pick you up and we can talk about this.”

She sighed and marked the block she was on. She repeated the street name but insisted she was just going to keep walking south until he found her. No more than five minutes later, she recognized the purr of Shiro’s motorcycle as it cut into someone’s driveway a few paces away from where Allura was walking. He pulled off an extra helmet that was strapped to the back of the seat.

“I swear the power wasn’t meant for fighting,” Shiro said as she stood there, scowling at the ground and fiddling with the strap on her helmet. “It was just a sample that I hung on to from when I met up with Zarkon’s rep that night at the shootout you three crashed.”

“Why were you meeting with Zarkon’s rep?” she asked, squinting at him. “I thought you’re not a fan.”

Shiro turned away, eyes impatient as he tapped his hands onto his lap. He shut his eyes and huffed out, “I can’t _talk about_ our plans—at least not out in the open. Does the agency know about Keith?” 

“No. I couldn’t do that to Lance right now. He just lost Hunk—he can’t…” she started, and shook her head. Lance shouldn’t be depending on Keith for anything, let alone his happiness. But perhaps she was just biased now. “As much as I’d hate for Lance to see Keith again… I think Keith needs to be the one to tell him. I tried but I just couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll be so devastated. I hate seeing Lance sad like that,” she said, now straddling the back of the bike. Shiro drifted the motorcycle back onto the empty street and started down the main drag.

Shiro felt Allura’s hands wrap around his torso, and felt a hot shudder make its way down his spine where Allura slotted up behind him. He started the route back to his house, snapping the opening on his helmet down as they picked up speed and broke away into the subdivisions. Around each turn, Allura leant away and felt the heavy locks of her hair catch in the breeze. The streetlights flickered over the strands of it, and caught in the whorls of light warped by the chipped paint on the side of Shiro’s bike.

The engine settled into a gentle roll beneath them before cutting off entirely after Shiro coasted up the driveway of his house. It wasn’t anything extravagant by any means, but it was certainly a step up from the inside of any house in Milwaukee she saw that wasn’t her Uncle’s place or Kolivan’s. The week before everything went south with Shiro, she spent more time in Shiro’s apartment than she had her own.

Shiro pocketed his keys as Allura slid off the seat. “About Keith…” he started, leaning over the handles of his bike as Allura shook out her hair and handed him the helmet. “I have no clue where he is.”

“Aren’t you two, like, best friends or something? You’re his _cousin_ —he’s the head of an entire _drug—_ ”

Shiro shushed her, waving his hand at her to shut her up. He got off his bike and shook a cigarette out of the box in his coat pocket. He lit it on the way to the front door as Allura hissed, “You seriously can’t tell me you’ve lost track of probably the most _dangerous individual in Milwaukee_!”

“He’s not _dangerous_ unless he tries or wants to be,” Shiro remarked, pinching the cigarette between his teeth as he unlocked the door and let Allura in. “Trust me—Keith was harmless until his dad died. He had no intention of taking over his father’s industry. Why do you think he was in France to begin with? If one of Ko’s guys hadn’t hunted him down, he probably never would have come back to Milwaukee.”

“Are you serious?” she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

“The only reason he knew his dad died was because we kept in contact. No one knew where he was. He never got a funeral invitation or anything,” Shiro said. “Over half his family didn’t know he was still alive, and they still don’t. Kogane is a mystery to them except everyone who’s at the head of the industry. But with my father gone rogue, he likely spread Keith’s identity and any guards who happened to work close to Keith are probably assassins now, waiting until he comes back to his apartment to kill him.

“I went by earlier to see if he stopped there, and someone tried to slit my throat the second I came in through the back door,” he explained. “The front door was busted in, too. I’m surprised his neighbors haven’t called it in.”

“Why? Why would your father be trying to kill Keith?” she asked, shaking her head.

They were at the kitchen now, where Shiro could sit up on the counter, open the window, and blow the smoke through the screen. “Because he’s working for Zarkon now. Zarkon wants control of Keith’s power supply— _everything_. He already has our producer and if we let them stay on the track they’re on now, they’ll likely take over our power production and we’ll not only be _nothing_ , but all the power, the narcotics, will be secured behind rows upon rows of powers beyond your imagining. Zarkon has an entire fleet of uncharted powers, which is to say that it’s worse than what Ko kept from you guys in all those years. 

“When Ko took over, Zarkon squared off a distinct section to protect from us, and only recently within the time you guys started poking around in our business, Zarkon has moved deals into our territory under an agreement with Ko. The only promise being that Zarkon doesn’t sell power on our turf—just narcotics.”

“Why wouldn’t he—”

“Because that’s our deal, not his. But now he has our grade-A production manager and so we have nothing as far as you know. Except for what we already have in store,” he said, turning to where Allura was leaning up against the countertop beside him. The lights were out except for the street lamps and a bit of moonlight touching Shiro’s visage. 

“Our plan before my father betrayed us was to infiltrate Zarkon’s turf by making an agreement and signing our lives off to him. We’d stay for as long as it took to get close enough to him—it probably would have taken _years_ of meticulous hiding and lying our way through. Zarkon never would have let Keith near him—or even in the same building as him. From what I understand, he likely regulates how much power his guys ingest and kills people whose blood tests show higher levels than what he demands. He probably would have had Keith on the lowest dose he regulates, and Keith would have done it to prove loyalty.”

“So Zarkon? What’s he all about,” Allura asked. “You keep talking about him but I know nothing about this guy. How do you even know he exists, and it’s not some _group of people_ controlling this sector?”

“That could be,” he sighed, clearing his throat, “but our business isn’t exactly a _democracy_.”

“But if neither of you want to be a part of this, then why participate? Keith didn’t _have_ to do this, right?” she insisted, and only grew more furious as Shiro shook his head like participating was a form of resignation. “You shouldn’t be getting _involved_ with this stuff—!”

“But this is what we _do_!” he all but shouted, pegging her with his harsh glare. “You don’t _get it_ —this is the reason why Keith was even able to travel in the first place. He’s maintaining his fortune by picking up where his father left off. And _me?_ I’m his best friend—probably his _only friend_ —and I have to support him where I can. And in the end, I’ll be back at square one, too, and this way I don’t have to be on the _streets—_ ”

“You wouldn’t be on the streets, Shiro,” she said quietly as she stood in front of where his legs dangled off the counter. He scoffed and looked away, blowing a puff of smoke through the screen. 

“By the time I’m thirty I imagine… Well, we sued the guys who were involved in the car crash that took my arm, but I imagine all the money from that will be gone by the time I’m thirty-five. At least that’s what I estimated, but by then the house will be closer to being paid off,” he explained. “Working for Keith will give me that extra cushion of support. So it goes both ways.”

“What about Keith?”

“It’d be nice if he decided to go to college, but I don’t know that he will,” he said. “He graduated high school a semester early so he could get out of there and leave the States.”

“Oh.” She tapped her fingers on his knees, scowling at the window as she thought.

He reached over and put his cigarette out in the sink, saying, “So what do you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“You determine whether or not I can keep living the way I do,” he said, reaching down and settling his hands over hers. “And… I’ll try to be okay with whatever you decide.”

“If I tell my boss about this, and you get caught…” She couldn’t manage it. It’d mean the end of any contact she’d ever have with Shiro. She didn’t expect them to be a life-long “thing”, but she certainly expected the two of them to last longer than _one goddamn week_. “I don’t want you to go to prison,” she whispered, ducking her head. “But Keith…”

“I’ve killed more people than Keith ever has,” Shiro said, laughing bitterly at the thought. “He doesn’t deserve to go to prison.”

“But that suggests that he _has—_ ”

“And have you? Or Pidge or Lance?” he questioned. “Don’t determine our fate based on what sort of awful people we take off the streets. And if Keith goes to prison, I imagine a lot of his father’s guys are there and willing to help him escape. Not that he _would_. I imagine he’d like the peace and quiet… if he doesn’t get murdered first, at least…” Shiro’s brows tensed at the thought. He _knew_ there would be guys in those cells still loyal to the Kogane family. If they knew about Keith and who he was, Shiro _hoped_ to _God_ that they’d be willing to protect Keith.

But that was only if worse comes to worst.

“I want to take out this Zarkon guy,” Allura said at last. “And do you think Keith would help us?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Shiro confessed. “His phone won’t pick up any calls—I think he might have destroyed it—and he’s not at his apartment. I don’t know where else he’d go aside from my house…” 

He stopped, and Allura stepped back as he slid off the countertop. She suddenly became aware of the fact that they never turned on the lights—and if Keith really _was_ Kogane… She didn’t want to think about what sort of mood Keith would be in after everything that happened. The last thing he probably wanted to hear was that his best friend was telling his girlfriend—a _Defender_ —everything about their current dilemma.

Shiro flicked on the kitchen light and went to the living room, and then up the stairs calling out, “Keith? Are you here?” He went to each door until they were all hanging open with no sign of Kogane. Allura stayed on the first floor, and checked Shiro’s study and the first floor bathroom. Nothing. Relieved, but also troubled as to where Keith was, she slumped against the dining room table and dragged her hands over her face. 

Shiro hurried back down the stairs as Allura said, “This is a _disaster!_ Even if you claim Keith isn’t a danger to society, he still tried to _kill_ an innocent _guy!_ Doesn’t that seem a little unhinged to you?”

“Come on. Anyone raised by Ko would be a psychopath. I’d say Keith came out pretty well considering his childhood,” Shiro remarked, scowling at her. It occurred to him that she didn’t give two flying fucks about Keith—she didn’t know him well enough to _actually_ give them. “I stayed in contact with Keith these past six years—the only one that _did_ , actually—and he’s never loved _anyone_ other than Lance. Aside from _maybe_ me, but he’d never admit that to himself. How are you supposed to cope with an entirely new feeling after twenty-three years of not giving or receiving it?”

“That’s no excuse for what he planned to do to Hunk,” she seethed. “You can’t blame a terrible childhood as the reason for Keith’s shitty conscience!” 

“I’m not saying—! _Ugh_ , all I’m saying is that Keith _really_ cares about Lance, and I think he thought of Hunk as a threat to Lance and their relationship! That’s all I’m saying! I’m not trying to justify anything because I’m not Keith and I don’t know the exact way his brain works, all right?” he said, words biting viciously between his teeth as Allura bristled in the middle of the dining room.

“But you agree that he shouldn’t be attacking Hunk, right?” she said.

“ _Right_. Oh, my _God_ I’ve been trying to get him to stop. Every time one of his guards reported something like that to me or I saw it on the news I wanted to bash my head into a wall,” he groaned, and tipped his head against the end banister that touched the ceiling. Allura smiled a little, and felt her face heat up when Shiro caught her smiling, and smiled back. He tucked his lip between his teeth then, looking down at their feet standing several paces away from one another.

“Are we… okay now?” he asked.

He watched Allura’s feet come closer before raising his eyes to her decisive face, and the way her hair was haloed by the kitchen lights behind her. “I don’t know,” she said, looking sheepish as she reached up and flattened out Shiro’s ruffled jacket collar. “But I know that I do _like you_. I like you more than I should, actually.”

“Really?” he jested. “Well, I like you more than I should as well. What do we do about it then?”

She hung on to his jacket and said, “Let me kiss you?”

“Sounds good to me,” he laughed.

They leant in together for the first time in nearly two weeks, and Allura allowed herself a moment of complete and utter reckless surrender. As Shiro’s hands dipped to the backs of her legs, she leapt up, and crossed her ankles against his lower back. She giggled against Shiro’s hair as he peppered kisses across her neck, and she cried out, “Not the neck! Not the neck! I don’t need Pidge badgering me about this again.” Shiro laughed against her as he leapt up the stairs to his room where they fell together on the bed, and Allura snickered evilly the second she hit the mattress, and all but vanished aside from her hair, and her row of pearly white teeth.

“Oh God, please don’t do that,” Shiro whined, “Now I know why you wear a black uniform over your hair…”

She laughed as she fazed back in a wave of pixelated shimmers. “It’s fun though, huh? You should have seen the look on my uncle’s face when we found out I picked up my mom’s powers.”

“Speaking of uncles,” Shiro said, rolling to the side so they laid with their shoulders touching, and hands intertwined. “Keith said Lance’s uncle is _thee_ Avonaco Kolivan. I’m starting to think that was a lie.”

“Oh, it was,” she said. “I can’t believe Keith fell for that.”

  


  


As Shiro and Allura talked (or rather, “talked”) until the early hours of the morning, something kept Lance awake long after Allura left the apartment. Perhaps it was his phone sitting there on his dresser, and his desire to get to it even if it meant irritating his ribcage _yet again_. He took three deep breaths—as much as he could manage, anyway—and heaved himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs off the mattress, and landing his feet on the ground. _Success_.

He stood and fetched his phone before lowering back down onto his bed and dialing up Keith’s number. The second he put it to his ear, he heard Keith’s voicemail pop up, and so he hung up and tried again. When all that came up was the voicemail, he sighed and cleared his throat. 

“Hey Keith! It’s Lance. Um… I’m just wondering if you’re up to anything tomorrow and if you’d want to… I dunno, watch movies or something,” he said, sighing again before adding, “so yeah. Call me back. Bye.”

At midnight he called again. “Hey Keith… it’s just Lance. I hope everything’s okay with you. I… was kind of expecting you to come back to my place after you were done with _whatever_ , but that’s cool. Just calling to let you know that… I miss you. Call me back. Bye.”

He slept for two hours before waking up from a nightmare. He couldn’t remember the details about it aside from Pidge dying at the end of it. He was honestly surprised that he hadn’t been screaming out loud. His legs were all tangled in the sheets and he was sweating because the AC wasn’t working properly that night. The first thing he did was kick his legs out from the blankets and lay over the tangles of it. Then, he went for his phone and texted Keith:

_Hey are you okay? I’m thinking your phone is on silent or dead or something. Call me when you can_.

After that, he fell asleep for the rest of the night, and Keith barely woke up the following morning. 

It was one of those mornings were Keith couldn’t stand to open his eyes, let alone _bother to_. He met Luxia’s contact, Rolo, seeing as the boat warehouse was something of a makeshift house with a shitty couch, a rug, and a coffee table. It was a miniature living room, and Keith found himself lying on the couch while Rolo remained passed out on the lounging chair. Between the two of them, they finished off the rest of Rolo’s Smirnoff, and Keith was _seriously_ feeling it now.

Rolo was a mix between some undetermined race and Mexican. He made that abundantly clear when he asked what Keith was, considering his clearly-not-white exterior. Rolo’s mother was a nonexistent figure in his life—something they both shared in common, for the most part—but she provided what she could that ended up being unceremoniously donated to the upkeep of his hemp plants. His father was a good man as far as Keith could tell, since all of Rolo’s knowledge came from friends in high school.

The man had a surprisingly prominent green thumb, and a knowledge of cannabis that was ironic considering Rolo didn’t smoke all that much. His powers just happened to be obscure enough and desirable enough to prompt dozens of colleges to contact him in hopes of honing his powers for the greater good. Of course, that would lead to years of debt with no certain outcome, so Rolo stuck to the surety of growing cannabis. 

He wore gloves the entire time Keith stayed over there because he’d been focusing on promoting the growth of his newest sprouts. On limited power, Rolo was capable of expediting the cell growth in the nodes of the plants with just a touch of his bare fingertips. It was uncontrollable and led to plenty of disasters the first time he tried power—even _he_ wasn’t all that thrilled by the results, but his teachers were, and the government was. The fact that it worked on anything with living, breathing cells meant that they were all under the whim of Rolo’s fingertips if he wanted. It was controlled by the level of power in his blood system, and so he waited until morning to pluck off his gloves and toss them on the ground with a groan.

Keith squinted as Rolo rubbed his hands over his eyes. With the power out of his system, Rolo’s hands were completely benign. 

“You don’t look too good,” Rolo told him, smiling beyond his yellowish teeth, and the shagginess of his hair after having been pulled out of a baseball cap.

“I don’t _feel_ too good,” he confessed, stretching his arms up over his head with a sigh.

“Do you work?”

“Not terribly,” he said, and Rolo laughed at the remark. _Not many people know who I am_ , Keith reminded himself, smirking as Rolo lifted himself out of his chair and grabbed something from the coffee table. The table itself was marred with scratches and cuts, and chipped wood threatening to splinter. It was covered in _ancient_ books collecting dust from the motes swirling through the light exposed by the windows high above. The windows themselves were up by the rafters, lighting oranges and reds overhead that portrayed the unique sensation Sundays often gave Keith when he accidentally slept in, or managed to sleep at all.

“I’m _starved_. You’re payin’ for McDonald’s, ‘ight?” Rolo said, jabbing a finger in Keith’s direction. “I let ya stay here when it ain’t even my building anymore.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed, recalling the amount Prorok slid him in regards to the cost of this warehouse on the water. “Don’t have a phone, though.”

“Here—” Rolo reached into his baggy sweatpants that were layered in dirt. A second later, a phone went flying through the air, and Rolo looked away just as Keith's scrambled to catch it by shooting up a bolt of shadows in front of his face to avoid getting hit. Heart rate retreating, Keith lowered the shadows and let the phone fall into his hands as the black clouds smeared between his fingers, licking between them like water escaping through the cracks.

Keith dialed them up for the sake of pacifying Rolo—not that the guy was easily angered. He seemed pretty relaxed, and hardly batted an eye when Keith showed up at the door the night before saying, “Hey I need to stay here for the night. Is that okay with you?” It seemed like Shiro was right about one thing: If he acted like he knew what he was doing, and that he owned the place, then people just fell in line.

Keith got up with a groan and left to pick up the order. It was a good fifteen minute walk, and by the time he got back, it was practically noon. It was a scorcher that day, but he couldn’t be bothered to take off his sweatshirt until it was beating through the fabric and setting his skin on fire. He stopped at a bench and tore off his sweatshirt, tying it around his waist after plucking his tank top off his chest to get some airflow. It felt as though there was nothing between him and a sun flare at this point, and he wished for the sweet, sweet embrace of death.

He was several paces away from the warehouse when he saw the shine of a vehicle hidden by the shadows cast by the building. He stopped, a tense feeling in his chest as he considered—had he dropped something in the road yesterday that gave away his identity? Were the police waiting inside to arrest him? That first night at the safe, he hadn’t thought of the guards and military personnel as anything other than players in a video game—expendable, tedious, distracting…

_You don’t have to kill anyone_ , he argued, forcing himself to relax and go inside. _You’re just overreacting. Stop being so morbid like Father_.

He pushed open the door to the boat warehouse, and as it creaked open, he heard several voices cut out, waiting for him to emerge from behind the door. He pushed out his reservations, and slipped through the crack in the door, feeling all too much like a guilty teenager again as he found himself facing not only Prorok, but Shiro as well. 

They were standing over by the heat lamps glowing over Rolo’s cannabis plants, but they hardly seemed interested in it now that Keith was standing on the other side of the warehouse holding a bag of McDonald’s. He looked away from them, and over to the inlets of water cutting between the docs. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. _Shit, I can’t even talk_ , he mused dreadfully, reaching back to the door.

“Keith, wait,” Shiro said.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” he said.

Shiro started for him, so he made a break through the door, abandoning the McDonald’s bag as Rolo shouted, “Hey! Careful with the chicken nuggets!” Keith was already halfway down the docks when Shiro caught up with him, and grabbed him by the arm. 

“Don’t touch me!” Keith hissed, yanking his hand away in a panic. The terror must have seeped into his voice, because Shiro instantly backed up, holding his hands up.

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, and Keith merely glared at him, holding his hands to his chest as Shiro took another step back, letting his arms swing down to his sides again. “Prorok and I just want to talk about our plan with Zarkon. But eventually we’re going to have to talk about Lance, too.”

Keith folded his hands beneath his armpits, hugging himself as he scowled at the wooden posts lining the docks. 

“What happened to your phone?” Shiro asked.

“In the river.”

“Why?”

“… In case Lance called.” He swallowed hard in an attempt to keep the strangled-feeling in his throat from starting a round of waterworks. “I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about your plan with Zarkon.”

When Shiro didn’t answer straight away, Keith looked up and loathed to see the pitiful expression his best friend wore. “Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he seethed. “As if you’re any better. Turns out you sapped your girlfriend’s powers—I put two-and-two together.”

“I know—”

“And you’re still seeing her? Considering that night we were supposed to make a truce?” he commented, and Shiro merely pulled a hand up to his hair, and dragged it down through his beard. He had that “shut up” look on his face that Keith scoffed at and turned away from. “Unbelievable. Isn’t that kind of abusive?”

“Coming clean is better than _ignoring Lance_ ,” Shiro hissed, and Keith visibly bristled, ducking his head so his shoulders came up to his ears, like he was folding in on himself. He was grateful for the fact that his powers were controllable, otherwise Keith was certain that he would be swallowed up in a pit of darkness by now. 

Shiro sighed and said, “Okay. So we aren’t talking about that yet. But Prorok and I have a proposal—Well, I’m sort of _forcing_ his agreement because we don’t have much of a choice at this point.” 

“What is it?” Keith said, and started to walk back towards the door several dozen paces away. Shiro followed close after him and started to relay the idea.

“Zarkon recruits powers that are above average, right? And if any of us weren’t already on his radar, we’d all make the cut,” he began, holding open the door behind Keith and following a moment later. 

From across the warehouse, they heard Prorok say, “This is a horrible idea Keith! Don’t listen to him.”

Keith scoffed and said, “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that. I trust the word of a senior over you any day.”

“Rude!” they both cried out, and Prorok dissolved into loud barks of laughter that had a ghost of a smile rising on Keith’s lips.

“I don’t know many people on our side who have extraordinary powers and aren’t already tracked by Zarkon,” he confessed, and noted the fact that Rolo was still there, picking around at something on the work bench against the wall. “Except for maybe Rolo, but he’s not on our team.”

“What team?” Rolo asked.

Prorok wandered over to him, and observed what he was doing before asking for a bit of privacy. Rolo looked back at all of them, waiting expectantly for him to move. “ _Oh!_ Okay, secret meeting. Gotchya,” he blurted out, spinning off the stool and heading for the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me!”

Keith rubbed a hand over his face as the door shut and Shiro said, “So are you two buds now?”

“Yeah, he shared his Smirnoff with me,” he said. “My hangover is mostly gone.”

“You’re _awful_ with vodka—”

“Don’t mention it,” he groaned. “Are you suggesting we recruit someone to mole their way into Zarkon’s facilities because _that_ would be impressive—”

“I’ve already got someone,” he said.

Just as Keith turned to him in surprise, the air blurred out beside him and pixelated into the form of—

“ _Shit!_ ” Keith screamed, recognizing Allura in an instant. He tripped backwards and staggered into the coffee table, bumping it and falling over onto the couch as she leapt in surprise, already tugging off her black cap and apologizing like mad.

“Oh! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, pulling her braid over her shoulder as she pinching a finger at the corner of her lips as Shiro laughed at the both of them.

Keith sat, panting against the back of the couch as he studied the fact that he hadn’t even noticed anything was off. Prorok didn’t even seem fazed, which further emphasized the point that Shiro _forced him_ to let _Allura_ anywhere near the warehouse. 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Keith hissed at Shiro. “Do you not see the marijuana growing over there? She works for the _Defenders—_ ”

“We all know about Shiro,” she said. “Pidge and Lance haven’t said anything about him since they found out. By this point if I decided to rat out your boathouse, I’d have to confess to knowing Shiro worked for Kogane which is… you. Which means I’d also have to confess to knowing the identity of the criminal we’ve been going after for several weeks now and… that would be really shitty of me.” 

She clasped her hands behind her back and glanced between Shiro and Keith. Keith recovered only slightly, his eyes still zeroed in on the smug look on his best friend’s face. “You are the stupidest fucking man alive,” Keith told him, shoving himself to his feet and tearing off the sweatshirt he had wrapped around his waist. He chucked it onto the couch as he stormed to the other side of the makeshift living room, and out onto the docks. 

“Oh come on,” Shiro said, throwing his arms down as he watched Keith pace away, dragging his hands over his face and through his hair. “Allura has the most incredible invisibility palette any of us have ever _seen_. And on top of that, she has restoration—Zarkon would hire her in a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t change who she’ll be working with if she does follow through with this,” Prorok said, stepping up to them with his arms crossed. “There’s no way to guarantee her safety. She’ll be the only one of us in on the operation, which means she won’t have anyone on the other side to help her if things go wrong.”

“And how do you expect us to organize this?” Keith demanded, looking at Shiro now. 

Allura raised her hand, and Keith gestured for her to speak. “Actually, that will be up to me,” she said. “There’s no way I’d be able to do this without the agency, so the strategists there will be helping me through it. Either way I’ll be doing this with or without you guys as soon as I convince my superiors that Zarkon is the bigger issue here. No one at the agency even knows who this guy is—we just know that there are underground dealings going on all the time right beneath our noses.”

“You can’t be serious,” Keith breathed. “Then why the fuck would you alert me to this _disaster_ waiting to happen? This would just be another reason for Zarkon to come after us, as if he isn’t already pissed about how the deal went. Which—no thanks to _you_ —was completely fucked.”

“Look—there was no possible way for us to know that you were trying to take down the entire foundation of a narcotics industry,” Allura said. “And even if we _had_ known, we didn’t have a choice. We do whatever we’re assigned to, which is why I have to get approval from my boss to shift our focus from Kogane to Zarkon. And I would need your guys’ help doing it.”

“Why?” Prorok asked. “It seems like you’ve got everything covered _without us_.” With that, he scowled at Shiro. The one thing that kept Ko afloat was _not_ involving government-sponsored powers into their ranks. 

“The agency knows virtually _nothing_ about Zarkon, but _you guys_ do, and you guys have traitors on their side that you know more about than we do. All I’m asking is for insight into their playing field, and in return I’ll take out the traitors for you. If word gets out to the agency that the traitors know your identities, you’ll be in prison faster than you would without Sendak or Haggar ratting you out,” Allura explained, arms crossed and eyes focused on all three of them. _I can see why she’s able to put up with Shiro_ , Keith thought, glancing at his best friend who donned a stoic, military-like expression when Allura was talking.

“You seem pretty confident that the agency can take them down,” Prorok commented.

“Well… schools usually seem to be the ones that get the first-pick out of all the best powers,” she commented. “So we have a pretty elite team considering we’ve all been introduced to powers sooner than the rest of Zarkon’s team as far as I can tell.”

“So what do you say?” Shiro asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly at Keith.

Keith sighed, rolling his eyes as he shrugged. “Fine. Seems like I have no choice in the matter. What happens after Zarkon’s taken care of?”

“Another division will probably be charged of taking you down, and I’ll keep my mouth shut. Whatever happens happens,” she said, and Keith nodded. They studied one another for a moment until Keith initiated the handshake. She looked down at his extended hand before saying, “My only requirement, aside from being an informant, would be that you talk to Lance.”

Instantly Keith’s hand dropped, and as Shiro cautiously said, “Keith…” he shook his head furiously, pegging him with a glare. 

“I am _not_ talking to Lance. We all know _exactly_ how he would take this. I’ve hurt him enough as it is,” Keith insisted.

“He still cares about you, though!” Allura insisted, flicking through her phone and holding up a set of text messages. “He’s worried about you, Keith. At least give him some closure if you plan on breaking up with him. You can’t leave him wondering what he did wrong.”

Keith nearly slapped her phone down, but he caught sight of a faint, _If you see Keith_ —and stopped himself from turning her down.

He hesitantly reached out and plucked the phone out of her hand. He read, _If you see Keith today at work, tell him I say hi, okay? He hasn’t been answering any of my calls and it’s worrying me_.

It was followed by Allura saying, _I’m sure he’s just busy_.

_Busy at 3AM? doing WHAT?_

_YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. He was probably SLEEPING, you know, LIKE WHAT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING_.

“Is he—Is he okay? Considering everything,” Keith asked, clearing his throat as he handed the phone back. 

She put it away in her pocket as she answered, “Yeah, he’s fine. I healed up everything except a bruised rib because he wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment that day anyways so he deserves it.”

“Brutal,” Prorok laughed from where he stood beside Shiro. 

“Also, you still need to pick up your kitten,” she said.

“I can’t imagine Pidge _or_ Lance would give up a kitten to me after figuring out who I am,” Keith commented, and looked away from them as he felt all their eyes on him. “And anyways, I think it’s better if I just stay out of Lance’s life. It’d be selfish of me to even _try_ and get back together with him.”

“I’m not suggesting that—I just want you to come clean with him. It’s the least you can do,” she said. She glanced at her phone again, and winced a little. “I have to get to work, though. But _please_ consider it? And then we can talk about Zarkon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hella long chapter because I wrote it without considering an end XD At least it isn't a cliffhanger this time lol
> 
> I'll post again late tonight. Tomorrow's my one-year anniversary on AO3 so I'm kinda celebrating it by posting 4 chapters in two days lol but I'm still tryna hit 1 million words in under a year. So there's that too haha!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	16. unexpected visitation

Lance hadn’t seen or heard from Keith in over three days and he tried not to cry about it because Pidge always gave him the “don’t you dare” look whenever he came close to it. It was like they had a secret radar tuned in to Lance’s sniffles, and as soon as it started, they came stomping across the apartment. He could hear them marching over the wood floors and would instantly brush his hands over his eyes and pretend that he was just… playing games on his phone and _totally_ not waiting for his boyfriend to text him back. Not at all.

Allura didn’t come back since the time she stopped by and was interrogated by Pidge with questions like, “Have you seen Shiro? Is he doing anything criminal-y? Do we have to call the police on him?” and she squeaked back, “Of course not! What would make you think he’s a criminal—Oh, right.” Just watching Allura fidget for an hour and a half straight was enough to spike anyone’s anxiety, and so she left after treating Lance’s bruised rib because he kept complaining about it. And if the questions about Shiro didn’t get her going, the second Lance asked if she saw Keith, he knew she had but she wasn’t saying anything for her sake. 

He wondered if Keith came in to Alterra and acted like Allura was just another barista. He wondered if Keith didn’t ask after him, and just sat in his little corner on his computer, typing away at _whatever_. 

Lance decided not to be the guy who sent twenty text messages with no response—looking back at their conversation would just be depressing considering the introduction to their chats would be complete and utter one-sided silence.

Lance’s health was as normal as it could be. He could feel his strength returning the more he walked around, so he found himself taking walks every day as he awaited Kolivan’s OK to start work again. By the third day of radio silence, he was able to stand for his seven hour shifts at Alterra, and therefore was a barista again. Allura didn’t mention Keith at all that first day back at work, and Lance realized it was because Keith stopped coming in at all.

That night as he switched off the “OPEN” sign, he pushed in all the tables and confessed, “I don’t know what I did wrong. I mean, I _did_ kind of make a fuss about him being a virgin, but that should mean—”

“He’s a _what?_ That’s adorable,” Allura said.

“That’s what I said! He got all flustered about it. God, maybe now I sound like my life goal is to deflower him but that’s not it. Maybe I should tell him that my world doesn’t revolve around sex like yours does?” he said, and narrowly avoided a pen to the ear when Allura chucked it at him from across the store. She had a good throwing arm when she wanted to. “What if he up and left town?”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” she sighed. “Just wait for him to contact you. He’s probably… figuring shit out.”

“Yeah… I should probably figure my shit out too,” he confessed, disappearing into the back room where he peaked into the kitchen and asked for the mop. His coworker slid it over, and he started working on the floors. “Maybe he thinks I don’t have my shit together? I mean, from an outsider’s standpoint, _only_ working at a coffee shop makes it seem like I don’t have my shit together.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “Just wait for him to—”

“He probably thinks I’m leeching off of him for money then! Oh, _God—_ ”

“He does _not_! Oh my God, Lance, just let it go and finish up the floors so we can get out of here,” she snapped at him, and he winced a little. He bent down and lifted up a chair to mop under it and swirl around the legs of the table. 

He sighed at the monotony of every day without Keith or Hunk. He was back to square one, before Allura pointed Hunk out to him that _one, fateful day_. He didn’t want to be in the post-breakup slump. That was his _least_ favorite slump. 

Allura divvied up the tip money and they were out the door by eight. Lance’s feet ached like a son of a bitch, which was surprising because he hadn’t gotten achey-feet from work in _years_. _This is what I get for taking a few days off_ , he told himself, and stopped as Allura set the alarm, and his coworkers filed out the door, before breaking away to the sight of Shiro standing across the alley waiting for Allura.

They were the same height, and so she simply leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “How was your day?” he asked her, and she shrugged.

Lance slowly lowered himself down the steps and shut the door behind him. Allura turned back to him and locked the door. Lance side-stepped her and studied Shiro, thinking rapidly, _Don’t ask him. Don’t ask him. Don’t ask him—fuck_.

“Hey Shiro…” he said, instantly calling attention to himself. He swayed on his feet, looking at the ground as he said, “Have you… seen Keith around lately?”

Shiro blinked at him. Ever a stone wall of stolidity. “No, actually—sorry Lance.”

“That’s okay,” he said, looking over at Allura as she squeezed his shoulder. “What if—”

“Enough with the ‘what-ifs’. He’ll contact you when he’s ready. Probably just has shit going on,” she told him.

“But what if this is about me being a hoe for Hunk? He probably thinks I have an issue considering how long I had a crush on Hunk,” he whined, gripping at her arm as she started walking back towards Shiro, and towards the parking lot. 

“It’s not that,” Shiro told him. “I’ll let you know if I see him around, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighed, and let Allura’s arm slip through his fingers. He stood in the alley and watched as they rode off on Shiro’s motorcycle. 

Lance walked home that night drowning out his thoughts by listening to music along the way. He texted Pidge to ensure that they got home from the agency okay, and was relieved when they texted back. They texted through the duration of Lance’s walk until he found himself at the stoop, climbing up, and unlocking the door inside to let himself into the apartment.

He pushed open the sticky door and found Pidge on the couch surrounded by kittens. Seafoam was nowhere to be found—thank _God_ —so Lance was free to coo over them after tossing his keys onto the coffee table.

“Any sign of—” Pidge started, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

Lance pushed the kitten into their hands and bolted to the door, but the second he grabbed onto the handle, someone’s voice sounded on the other side. “Don’t open the door please.” _Keith_.

He was about to ask why, but something pushed against his shoe. He crouched down and picked up the slip of paper. It was thick like card stock, and had a texture that made Lance think—“I bought fancy paper for the occasion,” Keith said from the other side of the door. Written in Sharpie, the paper in Lance’s hand said, _I have something to tell you_.

“I _really_ don’t want my breakup recorded on fancy paper,” Lance said. “There’s a reason I hate breaking up over text so I don’t have to look back at it again.”

He looked back at Pidge as he dropped the paper and reached up to the door handle. He tried the door, and was surprised to find that it was impossible to budge, even for him. He yanked on it, and Keith said, “It’s not a break up, and I don’t want it to be. But I can’t say it to your face, okay?”

Lance tried the door again, shoving his foot into the wall and actually _denting it_ when he tried to heave the door open. He slipped and nearly fell, but Pidge was there to catch him, and also to lift up the next note that slipped under the door. 

_I know you’re the Blue Defender, and I never meant to hurt you and I never would have had I known sooner_.

“Next note, asshole,” Pidge demanded, kicking the door, and Lance slapped them on the arm and hissed, “Give him a break.”

“I give no breaks,” they seethed. 

Keith pushed the next note through, and they saw a bit of his fingers before he retracted them from under the door. The note was facing them, and neither of them could pick it up after reading it. He could feel Pidge’s eyes on him as he swallowed hard and put a hand to his woozy head. _Well that fucking explains a lot_ , he thought as he paced away from the door. He heard Pidge try the door again, but failed. 

“And I thought _Allura_ had bad taste in men,” they seethed, shoving their foot into the dent Lance made and tried to yank the door open again. “ _I’M GONNA POUND YOUR FACE IN—”_

_“Pidge!_ You’re gonna wake up all the neighbors!” Lance hissed, yanking them off the door and setting them several paces away. He went back to the letters and started kicking them under the door, back where they came from. Keith tried to push a blank page under the door, but Lance stomped his foot on it and shoved it back, hissing, “I don’t _want_ any of your _shit_ right now! Get out of my apartment!”

“Lance—I never meant—”

“ _GET OUT!_ ” he screamed.

They heard something come loose in the door, and it accidentally sent the door off its frame and swinging open. All three of them jumped in surprise, and it was the first time Lance saw Keith in three days. 

Keith was standing at the exit door, his hand on the handle. His tired eyes were wide, bloodshot, and bruised from lack of sleep. His pale skin was tinged red around his nose, and Lance felt a wave of horrible _regret_ douse him as Keith whispered, “I-I’m sorry—” and bolted out the door.

“Wait—” Lance started, only to be stopped by Pidge grabbing him by the arm and hissing, “Your powers aren’t back yet—”

“I’m not going to _fight him_ ,” he seethed, wrenching himself out of their grasp and running to the door. He swung their apartment door closed, but it just bounced back on the frame and revealed Pidge leaning out after him as he leapt down the stoop after where Keith disappeared around the corner.

It was pitch black out now, and Lance really _should_ have been terrified, but he couldn’t see that fucking helmet when all that was on his mind was the dreadful way Keith looked at him before escaping. He spied Keith running, already at the next block. Lance pushed his aching feet to _run, dammit_ , and he was at Keith’s heels before he could stop himself.

He _really_ couldn’t stop himself.

“ _Shit!_ ” he shrieked, slamming into Keith’s back yelling, “Incoming!” He twisted them towards the grass where they skidded and gathered grass stains together.

Keith was tense in Lance’s arms before he tried to push himself off the ground. “I-I don’t want to h-hurt you,” Keith said, hiccuping midway through as it registered to Lance that he was _crying_. He was breathing hard from running, and the way his breath hitched made it harder to catch his breath. “I-I _didn’t know_ —I didn’t know—”

“Whoa—hey,” Lance started, sitting up as Keith put his head in his hands, gasping. Lance was about to wrap his arms around Keith when Keith pushed him away, trying to talk while being completely incapable of vocalizing words. “It’s okay—I mean, it’s totally _not_ okay, but… I don’t know. I mean, Allura’s still dating Shiro and all that—”

“But Sh-Shiro isn’t _consciously_ a terrible person,” Keith hissed out, nudging his hands over his eyes. “I-I tried to k-kill Hunk _multiple times_. You sh-shouldn’t be here—we can’t—not after—”

“Yeah, that was pretty shitty,” Lance hummed. “You tried to kill me multiple times. I do have a fear of the dark because of you…”

“Y-You what—?” Keith murmured, moaning dreadfully. He stammered out something that sounded like “I’m _so_ sorry,” but it was too garbled for him to be entirely sure. 

“Wow—this would be _way_ easier if you weren’t so _guilty_ ,” Lance said, brushing his hands over his eyes. That was all it took for Keith to completely disappear from his vision. 

A puddle of pitch-black shadows accumulated in front of him, enveloping Keith and disappearing into a stream of black clouds up to the rooftops. Keith staggered onto the other side of the roof and kept himself from falling as he heard Lance shouting his name from the other side of the building. He stuck to the rooftop and sat there because he could barely keep himself standing as he muffled the absurd noises from his mouth behind his kneecaps. He heard Lance clamoring around in the alleyway and tipping over the fence to the back driveway that cut between the houses. The yard was all fenced off, and someone’s dog was out there yipping at where Lance tried to find a way in without being attacked by the dog. 

Keith threw over a blanket of opaque shadows and laid down, letting them weigh down on his chest and steady his breathing until he couldn’t hear Lance anymore. When he was finally able to function like a normal human being, he got up and started the trek back to his car where he hurriedly climbed in and locked the doors in fear of Lance waiting there for him to attack him with words that would only rip through his chest like razor blades.

As Keith drove back to the boathouses, Lance lumbered in through the front door of his apartment building and stood there for a solid ten minutes as he listened to Pidge try and keep the door closed. Each time it swung open. “I think… Keith fixed our door while simultaneously _breaking it_ ,” they said, snapping Lance out of his thoughts—or lack thereof. He turned back to the door and helped them shove it closed, only to have it swing back in.

“Do we have duck tape?” he asked, and while they went off to fetch the tape, Lance kept the door closed with his foot and tiredly pulled out his phone and checked the several messages Keith left unanswered. Considering who Keith was, he wondered if Keith destroyed his phone after everything that happened. Did he have a burner phone now? Was Lance just shouting into the void? 

Whatever the case, Pidge came back with duck tape and the two of them sealed the door with it before calling it a night. Neither of them wanted to deal with the bullshit that would likely come tomorrow when they both realized that Shiro knew this entire time, and that Allura likely knew now, and that she hadn’t told them. They’d realize that Keith, in his jealousy, had attempted to kill Hunk to win Lance over—to which Pidge would respond with a sarcastic, “Aw, how sweet!” and earn a punch in the arm for it. They would both realize that Lance had been dating a certified _criminal_ that inherited perhaps the largest power supply in Milwaukee.

Kolivan called in the morning to bring Lance into the office until noon when he went to Alterra and continued to scowl at Allura throughout the day before ultimately heading back to his apartment in a state of constant paranoia as night descended. 

Lance sent several unanswered messages to Keith trying to get him to talk, but when he didn’t talk, Lance determined that he really was just shouting into the void. So he started to send messages for the sake of getting it out there and in the open. 

_I’m not mad. I’m just… mad._

_Okay so I am mad at you but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about this_

_I swear I haven’t told Kolivan. You’ve probably figured out that Kolivan isn’t my uncle. None of my relatives are as cool as him._

_Ok that’s a lie my mom is pretty cool. But that’s besides the point._

_I suppose this would have gone worse if you would’ve taken off your helmet randomly in the middle of our fight. *is suddenly glad that you took off my mask since it stopped you from killing me* That’s gotta mean something, right?_

_I’m just. Confused. And irritated. And sad._

_I would like to talk about this._

_Maybe I’ll stop by your apartment some time._

  


  


Lance decided during the middle of his shift that he’d go to Keith’s apartment after work. He’d risk it. He had to. He wasn’t sure _why_ he had to, but his brain decided for him and he had no other choice than to follow through with it.

That morning Lance took a trip from the offices Kolivan usually stuffed him in, to the department on the seventh floor where he could get access to the agency’s profile databases that, unlike police databases, covered more than just the thumbprints of criminals. The agency covered every known power that showed itself across the nation, and categorized it by codes based on prominence and strength levels. Lance would spend ages just trying to find Keith’s power code, so he went with typing in _Keith Kogane_ into the database.

It took several minutes to search the thousands of names—perhaps even _millions_ —so Lance sat back with a sigh and glanced around at the quiet atmosphere of the seventh floor. No one seemed to bother with him putzing around on the database, so he took it as a sign that no one would report him to Kolivan for this. 

The computer let out a disappointing beep, and he spent several long minutes skimming through the codes on the number of people who showed up. He cross-referenced them against the information on his other monitor where he pulled up the official power names paired with each code. After ages of doing this, he sat back with a groan. Of _course_ Keith wouldn’t use his real name— _wait_.

He pushed forward and typed in, _Keith Corleone_. It took less time to track, and soon Keith’s name popped up—several of him, anyways. He went through them and shouted in relief when the fifteenth code matched the description of Keith’s powers.

He took Keith’s ID number and looked up his records that stopped at age seventeen when he was supposedly killed in a car crash. _No wonder no one’s pegged him as Kogane_ , he thought to himself, writing the report down that detailed what seemed to be a drag race where the car crash totaled three injuries and one dead—Keith. He wrote down the name of Keith’s biological mother before closing out of Keith’s files and erasing the history of it from both computers.

His phone went off then, and he was surprised Kolivan let him disappear for as long as he did—nearly an hour—which left him about thirty minutes before he had to leave for Alterra anyways. He got back to the third floor where Kolivan gave him his _stern eyes_ and gestured for him to get back to work. “What were you doing for so long anyways, huh?” Kolivan said.

“Looking at porn,” Lance said, just to get a rise out of him. He cackled on his way back to his desk, and he heard one of the other office workers snort at his comment. Kolivan flicked him on the back of the head and told him to quit messing around.

Allura was still being a bitch in Lance’s book, so Alterra was hell. He couldn’t stand to hold a decent conversation with her without rolling his eyes—it was just reflex at this point. She kept her happy exterior up, but when Lance was starting to leave the office that afternoon, Kolivan informed him that Allura would be doing solo work for a while and that he and Pidge would be moved down to duo work. It was probably the worst news Lance could have gotten that day, and chances were that he’d have to cut down his hours at Alterra to deal with the on-call work that came with being part of a duo.

Lance stuck to his phone where he and Pidge were conspiring about everything that they missed when they hadn’t realized Kogane was Keith all along. It explained his guards, his wealth, his mysteriously-nonexistent-parents, _and_ Keith’s obliviousness that time Lance almost died and claimed he choked on spicy chicken. Talking with Pidge made work more tolerable, though, from where he hid behind the espresso machine and pulled shots as the orders came in where Allura took over the cash register. 

It was nearly closing time when the door opened to a mostly-empty coffee shop. Lance looked up from where he was hiding and thought, _Please go away we’re almost closed_ , but stopped when he recognized that head of dreaded hair tied up in a knot. 

“Hunk!” Lance squeaked, and shrieked, making a break for the kitchen before either of them could exchange a word.

His misfortune hit its peak when Allura nabbed him by the wrist and dragged him back as Hunk said, “Wait—Lance! I need to talk to you. I figured I’d come in when you guys weren’t so busy.”

Allura marched Lance back up to the cash register where he pouted and folded his arms at her. He could barely look at Hunk without blushing up a storm, so he kept his eyes on the register screen. “Well, what is it?” he asked. 

“I just wanted to apologize. For the other day,” he said. “And you haven’t been around the past few days so I was worried about you.”

“I don’t see why you _would_ worry about me…” Lance grumbled. “I completely botched up any chance at us being friends.”

“We were friends, and I still want us to be,” Hunk insisted, causing Lance to look up with wide, stunned eyes. Hunk turned all flustered then, and reached back to adjust his bun as he added, “Well… I mean, I still care about you, and I like talking to you, and… if you’re cool with us being friends and all, it’d be nice if you’d meet Shay. I think you’d really like her, and I’ve told her all about you before so…”

“Really?” Lance squeaked. “‘Cause I’d like to meet her! She sounds cool.”

“She is! And we haven’t really started planning the wedding at all—it’s all just in its infant stages even though we’ve been engaged for a while. But I realized that it’d really bum me out if I couldn’t invite you to it. And you too, Allura. If you guys would _want_ to come,” he explained, and instantly all three of them were smiling at the thought of it. 

Allura asked him what they were thinking for the wedding, and as they talked about the theoretical venue, Lance held a hand to his lips to keep himself from smiling too wide. For what could have been a shitty day, it turned out all right.

That night, Lance left before Allura and promptly ignored the fact that Shiro was already in the alley waiting for her to get off work. They didn’t speak to one another, and Lance could feel Shiro’s eyes watching him as he exited the alley. He headed towards the riverwalk where he crossed the road, the parking lot, and started down the river. He glanced back at the Public Market where he heard Shiro’s motorcycle pull up to the stoplights with Allura on the back of it.

He walked down the length of the river until he reached the patio where he saw Keith’s guard sitting out on one of the patio chairs. Lance approached the steps and waved to the man sitting there and said, “Hey! Is Keith around?”

“Yeah—the door’s unlocked,” he said, nodding to glass door. Lance thanked him and started up the stairs, suddenly bombarded by the fact that he was really doing this. He was _going_ to talk to Keith whether he liked it or not, and—

Lance just reached the door handle when something wrenched itself against the inside of his skull. It was the most excruciating migraine he ever experienced, and it pierced through the mush of his brain like a skewer through his eye socket. 

He staggered back from the door, only to have the world tip beneath his feet. His vision distorted and he fell into the whicker couch on the patio. He attempted to call out to Keith’s guard, but the instant he saw the man, a fist slammed into the side of his face and the man hissed out at him, “You’re gonna tell me where Kogane is or I swear to God I’ll turn your brain to shit.”

The pain-induced haze wavered for a moment, allowing Lance to speak, “I _literally_ just asked you if he was inside—do you _think_ I know where he is?” 

The man grabbed him by the collar and cracked his fist across Lance’s nose, and as the blood ruptured through his nose, his brain was set on fire in a blaze of searing agony. The man covered his mouth and nose and muffled his screaming until he was left gasping on the couch, sputtering on the blood that leaked out of his nose. 

He held a hand to his head as he sat up, the world swaying underneath him as he tried to locate his target with little to no success. He fell off the couch in a heap, groaning just as someone grabbed him by the armpits and heaved him up. “Are you all right?” Keith’s familiar voice sounded in his ear where this incessant ringing noise was resonating.

“Yeah—Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before looking around and realizing that the entire patio was strewn into disarray to make room for the pocket of shadows accumulating in the corner.

“His powers can’t reach through it—he needs to be able to see his targets,” Keith explained, holding Lance up as he tried to regain his balance. “Shiro said you were heading in this direction. I’ve been keeping an eye on the powers Zarkon sends here.”

“Zarkon—?”

“He’s been trying to kill me since the truce was fucked up,” he explained. “So I haven’t been staying here.”

Lance brushed his hand under his nose and regretted it instantly. Droplets of blood were accumulating on the patio from where his nose couldn’t seem to stop spewing like a faucet. His entire hand was covered in it now, and he swore under his breath, tipping his head back even though it made his brain swim in his skull.

“Shit—your nose,” Keith said. “Get inside—if there were people in there they would have come out the second you showed up.”

Lance nodded as best he could, and followed Keith into the apartment where he heard Keith run off to the bathroom and grab an entire box of tissues. “If I had tampons I would totally offer them to you, but this is gonna have to do,” Keith said.

Lance snorted his laughter and regretted it immediately.

Keith hurriedly handed Lance a wad of Kleenex. He stuffed them into his nostrils and sighed. “Well. It’ll look like I drank too much Koolaid as a kid, that’s for sure,” he said, and Keith laughed as he turned on the kitchen faucet and gestured for Lance to come wash his hands off.

“Does your head still hurt?” he asked, and Lance shook his head. “You sure? Because I’ve got Advil or something—”

“No, Keith, I’m fine,” he insisted bluntly, pegging Keith with a stern look. Keith backed off instantly, tucking his hands to his stomach as Lance hurriedly scrubbed off the blood from his hands in silence. He glanced around the apartment and towards the bathroom where he could see that the front door was covered in construction paper and tape. He raised an eyebrow at it but ignored it otherwise.

With the lights off in the kitchen, they were left with the glow from the bathroom, and the lamps outside on the riverwalk. Keith went to the patio door, reminding Lance of the fact that they still had the assassin to deal with. Lance hurriedly dried off his hands and rushed out to the patio to catch the tail end of the guy saying, “— _did_ say you had a little plaything. He didn’t give a name, aside from a _sweet Latino boy—_ ”

His voice was broken off by a muffled grunt that sucked the air out of his lungs. Lance hesitated on the patio several steps away from where Keith faced the exposed nose and mouth of the guy taunting him. Lance watched a choked-up grimace rise on the guy’s face before he coughed, breath leaving him with every gasp, before a trickle of blood splattered from his heavy lips. 

“Whoa! Hey, what are you doing?” Lance shrieked, grabbing Keith by the arm and reeling him back from the guy. The man gasped, heaving a breath of air into his lungs now that Keith wasn’t constricting them.

Before Lance could try and convince Keith to deal with this guy rationally, the man ruined it by saying, “So what’s your name, sweetheart? Kogane won’t let me pay you a visit. A shame, really.”

Lance held Keith back from tackling the guy with his bare hands. Instead, he reeled his own fist back, only to receive an equally panicked shriek from Keith. “One punch from you and we might as well slam his skull under a boulder,” Keith said.

They guy laughed, a bit of a nervous hitch catching on his voice. “What’s, uh, what’s that supposed to mean?” he said, eyes covered by the shadows as he tried to look between them.

“You heard what he said—I get to punch him now,” Lance insisted.

“That’s not how this works,” Keith said, laughing hollowly as he shook his head. “I still need him to talk and if you kill him before I’m done, then what’s the point?”

“Could you perhaps talk _inside_ where it’s a _little_ more private?” he suggested, gesturing to the open patio door. Keith scowled at him, and in the next moment, Lance was scrambling away from the patch of darkness swelling in the corner and slipping through the door. The door slammed shut before Lance could consider following after it, and Keith came to step between him and the door. 

“I can take care of this. You should head home,” he said.

Lance crossed his arms and remarked, “Yeah, well, I still want to punch this guy in the face. You hold him back and I’ll swing.”

He made a show of punching his arms in front of him like he was a boxer, and Keith stared dully at him as if to say that Lance was hardly the boxer type. “Seriously Lance, you shouldn’t be here—”

“But I need to talk to you,” he insisted, and Keith sputtered to a halt, looking elsewhere as he reached for the door handle. “Keith, c’mon—so- so you’re Kogane. And you didn’t know who I was when you were trying to kill me, that’s cool. I never pegged you as a terrible person, Keith, and I still… don’t. Not really, anyways.”

“I _am_ a terrible person though—”

“Yeah, well, I’ve determined that the only reason you say that is because you’re trying to convince yourself of that,” Lance said, crossing his arms as Keith shut up, unable to look at Lance beyond a quick glance. “I think… that there are worse things than bad guys who kill other bad guys. Like I imagine what you’re going to do to that guy in there, and you’ll make a _mess_ I’m sure of it.

“And you totally could have turned into a bad guy who kills good guys. Like… Hunk, for example.” When he mentioned Hunk, Keith’s shoulders bunched up to his ears, and his already red eyes turned glassy as he blinked fast and looked towards the apartment door. “You could be one _kickass_ good guy, Keith. Your powers are _incredible_ , but I’m sure you already know that,” he added.

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly have a choice—”

“Bullshit! You totally have a choice!” he blurted out, and settled down when he saw the way Keith flinched at the explosion. “And I’m not saying that the agency would ever consider letting you in, but… wouldn’t it be cool if we could work together or something? You and Pidge would make an _awesome_ fighting pair, just based on what I’ve seen already. They’re, like, the only person I know of who could match against you.”

Keith scuffed his foot on the deck and muttered, “Yeah, they _did_ really piss me off whenever they jumped into our fights…”

Lance laughed a little, and smiled wider when Keith let a small smirk tug at his lips. “What does Pidge think of it?” he asked Lance, looking up and brushing a hand over his eyes again.

“We’ve been talking about you all day and how you completely fooled us,” he confessed, and Keith laughed as best he could. “Seriously! I think they want a rematch with you.”

“What about your _job_? As in your _real_ job, not the one at Alterra,” he asked.

Lance shrugged and said, “We’ve been downgraded to duos because Allura ditched us for solo work. Which means… we won’t be fighting you anymore. You’ll find us on the ground taking out the guys you supply power to.”

“I’m not entirely opposed to that,” Keith commented with a smile that faded when he saw the annoyed look on Lance’s face. “Clearly you are, though. What’s wrong with duos?”

“It’s like _degrading_ our power. We’re meant for trio work with the big shots—not stoping people from shooting up gas stations and stuff. Duo work is debatably tougher and more dangerous,” Lance confessed with a sigh. “Trio work is, like, finally getting the office space with a window view.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I can do to help you,” he said, brow tensing as Lance shrugged, arms now crossed. 

“Yeah, well, not much I can do about it now. I’ll be cutting down my hours at Alterra because duo work is on-call, constantly-at-the-office kind of stuff. So I probably won’t see you there much,” Lance confessed, and gasped as a thought arrived. “Now I know how you’re able to pay for Alterra every day!”

Keith laughed, and Lance softened at the sound of it, suddenly reminded of the time several weeks ago when they spent hours up on the roof of the apartment building just _talking_. _How could someone like that be Kogane?_ he asked himself, and considered how terrified he once was following his near-death experience the first time around. 

_Don’t make this weird, don’t make this weird_ , he chanted internally, but the words were already coming out. “Where did the idea come from to push solidified shadows out of peoples bodies? It sounds familiar,” he asked, cursing himself for doing so.

Keith’s expression dropped, and he cleared his throat, looking away as he said, “My father. It’s just… I’ve only done it twice to prove a point to Sendak and the others—that they shouldn’t question me—but that didn’t exactly go as expected.”

“Oh.”

“And—I’m so sorry, Lance,” he said, “ _Really_. I could have killed you that day in the alley—”

“It’s fine—I mean, _God_ , sorry, I mean it’s _not_ fine,” he stuttered out, “even if it hadn’t been _me_ it still wasn’t _okay—_ ”

“I know it’s not okay,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have taken matters into my own hands. I’m just… used to doing my own thing. But… even if we can’t be _together_ , necessarily… I would still like to see you once in a while?”

Lance looked up from where he’d been staring at the door, thinking about the dark puddle that Keith would likely dissolve into that assassin’s mouth and push through to the surface. He thought about the fact that the assassin could have killed Lance—he hadn’t been prepared for that, and he wasn’t sure if he _could_ have done anything had he known the assassin was there. If he had his bow, them maybe, but… there was a reason why Keith didn’t have a sniper take him out until now.

He looked back to where Keith was watching him expectantly, eyes weak from lack of sleep, and from talking about such a _dreadful topic._

“I, um…” Lance started, his uncertainty catching himself off guard. He _wanted to_ agree so terribly that it made his chest sting and wish for the emotional agony to end. The second he hesitated, he watched the distress pucker Keith’s brow as he looked to the ground. It was like Lance had just kicked a puppy. “Keith—I still _really like you_. I just—I have to figure this whole thing out before I agree to anything, I guess. I don’t know how this is gonna work with the Defenders agency and everything going on with Pidge and me.”

Keith tucked his hands over his stomach and nodded, and Lance wished he hadn't caught sight of the way Keith's lip trembled. He could feel the guilt gnawing at the lining of his stomach like the acid threatening to vomit straight out of his mouth. He couldn't stand the look of devastation on Keith was trying to hold back. 

Lance internally ordered himself to make Keith feel better, like he would have before everything turned sour, before he found out that his multiple touches with death were because of _Keith_. But the second he took a step towards Keith, his footing faltered, and the hand he tried to reach for Keith's crumbled into a fist at his side. "I'll see you later," he said, and turned to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o.o This chapter was originally 9.5k words long. I cut out 3k. What kind of MONSTER AM I. I can't even tell if losing 3k is a good or bad thing because TALK ABOUT BEING FLOODED BY WORDS. I'd let fanfiction drown me.
> 
> I literally just... can't stop...


	17. the more you know

The second Lance was out of view of Keith's apartment, he took off sprinting. He didn't care that his feet ached from standing all goddamn day, or that his powers still flickered like an unreliable lightbulb. He slowed to a jog at the Public Market, and powered through at the same pace until he was a block away from his apartment. His steps stuttered as he panted, lungs heaving from the exertion, and he looked to where he and Keith had collapsed in the grass outside of another apartment stoop. He remembered the way the night turned opaque around Keith in the grass, and rose up around Keith before sweeping up to the rooftops. At the time, Lance hadn't been able to stop himself from seeing Keith as anything other than the guy who took him to the Harbor House, who let him stay the night, and talked in such a sweet, private voice meant only for him. He couldn't stand to hear Keith's sobs like that, and he wondered if Keith broke down on the patio after Lance left.  


Dragging his hands over his face, he trudged up the steps to his apartment door and unlocked it. Belatedly, he remembered the blood still staining his upper lip, and the fact that his head was still recovering from the attack. He pushed on the door and broke through the duck tape Pidge used to tape it shut. The sound of it was enough to alert his roommate, and Seafoam, who was perched on the couch like his mother whenever he came home past curfew.  


"Lance?" Pidge called out.  


"Yeah, just me," he sighed.  


"Oh, good. I keep thinking we're being robbed," they confessed. "I called the landlord about the door. I told him we didn't do anything to it ourselves, it just stopped shutting."  


"Good thinking," he laughed, and added, "We could put the couch in front of it if you're worried." 

"I mean, if it isn't a problem. _Pff_ , what am I thinking—of course it isn't a problem for _you_ ," they snorted, finally coming through the hallway to see him trudging towards the couch to shoo Seafoam off. She lunged off with the grace of a no-longer-pregnant cat, and instead took to sitting on the coffee table as Lance lifted the couch up and brought it over to the door. Pidge ducked to avoid it, still studying him as he leant it against the door.  


"Did you...?"  


"Did I what?" he said, brushing his hands off on his pants. "What I _do_ need to do is wash my face. I feel gross from work."  


"Well, you look like you just drank a gallon of Koolaid, but if I knew you at all, I'd say... Wait. I really don't know," they confessed, pinching their fingers over their chin as Lance hurried over to the bathroom, and stepped over kittens that were becoming adventurous and climbing out of their now multi-box house. He leant down and swept one up, depositing it in the larger of the several boxes. They were connected by ducktape, with holes in the sides to allow access through each of them. With their eyes still adjusting, they couldn't see much, and more or less tripped through each of the holes.  


Lance made sure to scrub beneath his nose before taking care of the rest of his face so by the time Pidge came to squint at him from the doorway, he was clean of any evidence from dodging death once again.  


"I was just wondering... if Keith stopped by Alterra today," they asked.  


"No. I doubt he's gonna be coming by there anymore," he said bluntly. "What did you do today."  


Instantly they deflated, scowling as Lance started towards them. " _Office work_. Kolivan has me on basically-full-time now that my summer classes are done. I can't stand it! And he won't take my new skillset into consideration. I could be working with the tech guys instead of answering phone calls!"  


"That isn't exactly a _new_ skillset," he commented.  


"I know! And Kolivan still won't accept it! I seriously think he's starting to act more and more like a concerned grandfather instead of the cool, hip uncle that we set him up to be," they said, and Lance laughed as they wandered together into the kitchen where they discovered... nothing at all.  


"What did _you_ have for dinner?" he asked them.  


"Nothing yet. I was waiting for you to come back. I figured you might have some bakery stuff from Alterra," Pidge confessed, frowning as they noted the severe lack of bakery goods in Lance's processions. "Take out?"  


"No..."  


"Gyros?"  


"That's hangover food..."  


"We could get pizza or something? But... I don't really wanna go outside." _It's dark out_ , Lance mused, realizing that Pidge was likely just as put-off by the nighttime as Lance was now. Somehow, knowing Keith was behind the whole Kogane factor hardly made the nighttime any less terrifying. It didn't change the fact that Ko had been a pain in the ass before, and now they had bigger problems to deal with instead of Keith's powers.  


"Okay. We'll just... we won't go far! And it won't be an issue. I mean, come _on_ , we're Defenders with or without our uniforms and gear," he said, and started back towards the door, grabbing his keys and wallet along the way. "Sound good?"  


"Whatever you say..." they sang, picking up Seafoam and depositing her in the bathroom where she'd be caged in with all of her reluctant children, water, and food. 

They headed out in silence, and it stayed that way as they got closer to the strip of businesses down the way. It wasn't especially late out, but it was certainly dark enough for the street lamps to be on, and for cars' headlights to blind them along the way. There was a slight chill in the air from the lake, and Lance found himself crossing his arms as they stopped at the corner of a street to check the hours on a late-night Chinese restaurant they'd been to several times before. 

Lance looked to Pidge, and they shrugged, so the two of them walked into the building and ordered dinner at the counter.

By the time they got their food, it was nearly ten at night, and they sat together at a booth nearest the intersection, and in the red, green, and yellow light of the stoplights. Pidge twirled lo mein noodles around their chopsticks as Lance nudged his chin up on his hand, and stared dully down at his dish.  


"What is it?" Pidge asked.  


He sighed, thinking about Keith. "I just... I thought we'd never have to go back into duo work. I hope it takes them ages to register us again at headquarters," he confessed, and while it hadn't been at the forefront of all his thoughts, it was definitely a concern he couldn't ignore. "I'd rather get paid for desk work instead of... dealing with possible street-serial-killers.”

"Well... I did like the traveling when we _did_ do duos," they confessed, clearing their throat as they set down their chopsticks. "I've been thinking about it a lot, considering I looked forward to the traveling the most."  


Lance rolled his eyes. "It wasn't like we were traveling stupidly far—"  


"I know—but I always took it as a sort of _paid vacation_ where we got to kick butts and stuff. I mean, it's nothing like camping in Door County, or goin' up north, but... I thought it was pretty fun when people weren't trying to murder us," they said. Pidge looked back down at their plate and started eating again. "But you know. You can't fix everything, and Kolivan's in charge, so there's not much we can do in that department."  


"I guess you're right," he said. "Traveling _was_ kind of fun."  


"Told you," they snickered, hiding their smirk behind a mouthful of fried chicken.  


As they left the restaurant, they crossed the street and waited for the next walk sign, talking about the chances of Allura probably going to get herself murdered with whatever plan she was concocting. "I tried asking her earlier today, because I _purposefully_ bumped into her at the office," Pidge said. "But's all super sketchy and hush-hush."  


"Bizarre. Kolivan's been pretty cryptic, too. It's putting off my game," Lance whined. "And I don't want to ditch Alterra to deal with their bullshit. Kolivan already contacted Coran to shave my hours down to, like, two days a _week_."  


"Damn."  


"And it's not like we're suddenly getting a _raise or anything_ ," he whined. "At least with Alterra I had a little cushion, you know what I mean?"  


"And now you don't exactly have... Wait, never mind," they said.  


"No, what?"  


"Nothing. It was stupid and I know you've been avoiding talking about Keith so I just won't bring it up."  


Lance's heart leapt into his throat. "You _literally_ just brought it up. Why do you want to talk about him?"  


"Nope. No I don't."  


" _Yes_. You _do_. I can tell when you're trying to bait me, and it's not gonna work!"  


"It totally just worked because now you want me to say what's on my mind, and it'll open up a huge can of worms that you don't want to deal with!"  


They stared each other down at the sidewalk, missing the fact that the walk sign was now on, and there were cars waiting for them to pass. Lance huffed, stomping his foot and preparing to make a getaway across the road. Pidge hurried after him, ever the impatient one. He wasn't sure if he could deal with _anyone_ bringing Keith up if he ended up acting like _this_. He needed to get his shit together if Kolivan ever happened to ask about his "boyfriend", or if Allura—  


No. She wouldn't bail Keith out like that. She'd just risk her involvement with Shiro and get him locked up.

Lance leapt over the sidewalk curb and started down the street towards the narrow buildings all seemingly stacked on top of one another. They were separated by cracks of space barely beyond the width of Lance’s shoulders. It was still dark, and their paranoia made it difficult to avoid the obvious—especially when it came in the form of several men in black clothing standing outside of one of these cracks between the buildings. They circled together, and glanced out onto the sidewalk, conversation hushing as Lance and Pidge walked by.

“Lookin’ good,” one of them said, and Lance glanced back at them with a glare—though his Ma always said the last thing you should do is give them _That Look_. “Hey sweetheart, that your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Pidge bit out, wrangling Lance’s hand into their own to not only keep up appearances, but also prevent him from butchering all of them.

Though, when they had already passed the group of guys looking after them, Lance peered over his shoulder and squinted at what looked like—

 _The baggies of white powder_.

They were tucked into a gnarled, wrinkled paper baggie that one of the guys pulled out from his pocket. “They have power,” Lance whispered to Pidge.

“We don’t deal with druggies—”

“But—”

“You really want to test them right _now_?” they whined as they reached the next stoplight, and Lance stomped his feet like a child. “I don’t like dealing with guys like that, you know that.”

“I could _literally_ just—” Lance stopped as he felt Pidge’s hand tighten around his own.

They nudged their hands back, and Lance glimpsed to the side, and out of the corner of his eye he was able to catch the hint of one of the guys following after the with the rest of the group on their tail. Instantly, Lance looked both ways and crossed the street despite the red light, and pulled Pidge along with him.

“They could be Keith’s—”

“ _No_ ,” Lance hissed. “And you heard what Shiro said—they don’t decide who gets the power in the first place. Keith wouldn’t consciously give—”

“You don’t know _anything about him—_ ”

Lance felt his chest seize up from confronting the fact that he really _didn’t_ know anything about Kogane, or Keith for that matter. They were in the dark, and in between street lamps where the light faded into deep blue and nearly distracted Lance from the fact that someone was passing them, and putting a hand to Lance’s chest. 

“Troublemakers, huh? Red light, you know, or were you just trying to get away from me?” the guy hissed at Lance, who was just startled to be so openly confronted. 

He stepped back, just as the guy reached for Pidge. He cut in front of the guy, pushing Pidge behind him, only to realize that the other thugs were there and grabbing for them. “Let _go_ —!” they cried out, and Lance held tight to their hand, just as something slammed into the side of his face that felt like absolutely nothing compared to the adrenaline now shoving its way through his veins.

He looked at the guy in front of him, whose eyes widened as he shook out his most-likely bruised fist. “You want to try that again?” Lance hissed. 

Pidge pushed themself to Lance’s back, writhing as Lance felt someone’s hand push into their shoulders and wrench them away. Lance twisted around, yelling, “ _Duck!_ ” and just as Pidge complied, he struck his fist down and across the man’s perfect—now shattered—jawline. 

The sound of it was gruesome, and didn’t seem to register on any of their faces—

Lance looked to the next man, and found that same perfect jawline—same hair—same eyes—same _everything_. _Clones_ , he realized, turning to the one that stopped Lance on the sidewalk who donned a sharp, scathing smirk. “So Kogane’s little fuck toy has a bite,” he remarked, and the shock of it was momentarily distracted by the man lunging for him again with a strike across the face. 

Lance ducked to the side with a gasp, grabbing Pidge as they prepared their stance for a powerful shock. “ _Don’t!_ ” he shouted, thinking fast. So Kogane’s enemies knew who he was. It was better to keep his Defender identity a secret, and even more important to do the same for Pidge. The more they underestimated them, the better this would go. 

Lance shouted for them to run, and grabbed the nearest clone by the shoulders, shoving him _hard_ into the rocks of someone’s lawn. He whipped around and ducked back, nearly tripping into the stones as he watched two of the clones book it after Pidge. The delay was just enough for them to disappear into an alley, and probably vanish from sight.

Someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt and heaved him forward, straight into the knee that rammed up against his ribcage. Lance grunted, breath whooshing out of him as he was punched him _hard_ across the face. “Tell me where he is, _Lance McClain_ ,” the guy hissed at him. “Or else we’ll take you and your pretty little ‘girlfriend’—how’s that sound?”

Lance resisted every urge to just rip their arms off of him. He could dismember them in an instant if he wanted, but _he couldn’t be ruled by instinct_. 

The sound of police sirens blared up down the street—abruptly, and unforeseen by all of them. The clones backed off, and Lance was still uncertain which of them was staring at him with real, human eyes. The one before him grabbed him by the face, jabbing a finger into his chest as he seethed, “We know where you live, and if you see that Kogane of yours—tell him we’ll rip your throat out before his, an’ he’ll watch every goddamn second of it.”

With that, Lance fell back on the raised stones in that stranger’s garden, and watched the sidewalk clear up in the smoke of the clones dissolving into the air. He looked through it, across the street where a group of college students stood outside of a restaurant window, on the phone with the police, most likely, who were parked on the side of the road, stepping out with their guns raised before realizing that the threat was no longer there.

  


  


“We can’t tell Avonaco,” Lance whispered to Pidge as they sat outside of Kolivan’s office. “If we do—that just admits to the fact that we _know—_ ”

The office door clicked open, and they both flinched as they watched the lead strategist step out, look at them, and leave down the hall. Lance watched them go before coming face to face with Kolivan standing in front of him. “Get inside. We have a lot to discuss,” he told them, nodding to the door. Lance looked at is as if his doom awaited him, and just hoped that Kolivan wouldn’t be able to catch all the lies he was willing to tell to keep his goddamn job.

As Pidge and Lance were escorted by Kolivan into the office, Keith listened to the scanner they set up in the boathouse with Prorok standing behind him. It was a recording of what one of Prorok’s men picked up and thought might interested Kogane, considering it involved Lance McClain and Pidge Gunderson. It would likely be on the news, as well. 

Keith shut it off after listening for a while, exhausted and yet unable to sleep despite the way his body yearned for it. “They likely intended to kidnap both Lance and Pidge because they know you keep in contact with them,” Prorok said. 

“I know.”

“If they do, you can’t let that hinder you. They’re just trying to provoke you, and the Defender agency will protect them,” he said, and Keith nodded mutely, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Prorok fell quiet, studying the way Keith leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “They can take care of themselves, Keith.”

“I know they can. But this is _my_ fault. Next thing you know, they’ll take _Shiro_ and ruin everything Allura planned for, because you _know_ she’ll likely go after him and expose herself, and just get the both of them killed,” Keith sighed.

“I’ll move Shiro to one of my guy’s houses if you’re worried about him,” he suggested, and Keith shrugged. “I’ll talk to him about it. And please—don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t. Consider the disguise I suggested.”

Keith nodded and shut off the desk lamp. It left only the glow of Rolo’s plant boxes, thriving under the UV lamps. He stood up and headed for the couch as Prorok left to the door. Rolo was already passed out on the lounge chair, but would likely wake up at the crack of dawn as he did every day. Keith didn’t mind, though, because he couldn’t—

“Wait, I forgot something,” Prorok said, hurrying over and stopping Keith in his tracks. He recognized the rattle of pills in a bottle. “I picked up what you asked for, from your medicine cabinet. I had one of Haggar’s techs check it out to make sure Zarkon didn’t have someone replace them.”

“And?” he said, reaching for the bottle.

“Just your prescription sleeping pills,” he reassured, and Keith nodded, already popping open the bottle and swallowing a pill dry. “Sleep well. You deserve it.”

“That’s up for debate,” Keith sighed, stepping over to the couch and lowering himself down on it. Prorok disappeared through the door, and the lock jolted into place shortly after. The white noise of water lapping up against the boat docks soothed Keith’s troubled mind, and lulled it into the steps of counting up to one hundred… down to zero… before sleep ever reached him.

He woke up long after Lance did, which was surprising because Lance woke up approximately twenty minutes before his shift started at Alterra. Really, he shouldn’t have been out and about on his usual routine, but he wasn’t staying at home anymore, and he and Pidge were in a ratty motel paid for by the agency. They could have gotten a better place, but better places didn’t allow a horde of kittens to stay there. Seafoam was a monster on the car ride there, but the kittens were fine, and seemed to appreciate the change of scenery.

Kolivan drove Lance to the front doors of Alterra and said, “Coran was alerted to the dilemma. He’ll be here today.”

Lance stuttered, half-out the car door. “Wh-What? Wait—are you serious right now?” he blurted out, chest seizing up at the thought of his _actual boss at Alterra_. Coran hadn’t been around in _weeks_ because he was out traveling the West Coast having the time of his life, and depended on Allura to maintain order during the week.

“Allura won’t be here much any more, you know that,” Kolivan reminded him, and he deflated a little. “And you won’t be here much longer, either. So Coran’s back and so are other agency Defenders who work for him—tell him I say hello.”

With that, Kolivan left Lance standing out on the curb, shocked. He wasn’t sure… if Coran being his bodyguard was a _good thing_.

Eventually, he had to go to work, and stepped into the alley where he’d eventually find himself crossing the threshold of the back door, already hearing Coran’s booming voice and laughter from the back hallway where he clocked in. “ _LANCE_ , is that you?” Coran burst out from the other room, and he jumped in surprise, jolted by the fact that Coran was in front of him in a second, gathering him up into a hug. “It is! My boy, Lance!”

“Yes—that’s me,” he choked out, unable to breathe until Coran stepped back and held him by the shoulders. 

And _damn_ , was he _tan_.

Coran’s bright orange mustache looked bizarre against his caramel skin, and the appearance completely threw off Lance’s stability. He was only able to recover when Coran gave him a slap on the back reminiscent of every time he must have punched Pidge in the arm during a game of punch-buggy. 

Lance started work just like any other day, except the background noise was Coran talking loud and boldly from the kitchen about this-or-that. He rung up orders, made drinks, and went about his day until the rush slowed, and the only people who seemed to be talking was himself, and the other barista, Nyma. She had unreasonably long hair always tied up into a ponytail, and braided down to the middle of her back. She had it swept over her shoulder that day, displaying the tattoo that climbed up the back of her neck, and ducked beneath the collar of her shirt before peaking out on her biceps. Lance and Nyma didn’t work together all that often any more, but at the start of his time there, Nyma would roll her eyes at all of his advances that started along the lines of “Mind letting me take a peak at your tattoo?” which just implied that he wanted her to take her shirt off.

But now, they were on okay-terms. Perhaps it had something to do with Lance’s melancholy attitude towards… just about everything now. 

“How was work the other day?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He shrugged, and reconsidered it—Hunk came in that day. It was almost completely overshadowed by the fact that he nearly got killed afterwards when he went to talk to Keith. And… his conversation with Hunk went fine.

“Yesterday was good,” he said, and looked over to her. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I just worked the morning shift that day is all,” she said, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “Heard you and Hunk had a spat—but it’s all good now, right?” 

He nodded, and sighed as he looked across the street to the public market where one of Hunk’s coworkers was out adjusting flower pots on the street. The rest of the day at Alterra was relatively dead, so he found himself staring out at the Public Market, waiting for Hunk to emerge as he always did. When closing time came, Hunk hadn’t left the flower shop yet, so Lance finished moping the floors before Coran let him go since Kolivan was waiting for him out on the street. 

He stepped out of the alleyway and glanced at the Public Market again before hurrying over to Kolivan’s side of the car. He lowered the window down so Lance could lean over and say, “I’m just gonna go see my friend real quick. It’ll just take a second—take a lap around the block or something.”

“I’m staying right here,” Kolivan said, and Lance snorted, murmuring to himself as he walked away, “Oh, Avonaco, you kill me.”

He brushed a hand through his hair as he approached the door where the plants were being taken back inside. He was suddenly nervous to confront Hunk again, but why should he be? Hunk wanted him to meet his fiancé—Lance had no reason to assume Hunk hated him for his affections… Right?

Just as Lance was about to enter the Public Market, a woman in a flower shop apron stepped out, and jumped in surprise at the sight of him. “Oh—Lance, nice to see you again,” she said, beaming up at him.

“You too—is… Hunk around?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“He didn’t show up to work today, so I had to take over,” she explained, and frowned at him. “Why? Have you heard from him? I’ve been trying to get in contact with him all day, but his phone must be dead. He hasn’t missed work… _ever_.”

Lance paled at the comment, and instantly told himself that was just his paranoia from work—he was raised to think that way. Hunk wouldn’t miss work for irresponsible reasons, so Lance had to assume it was serious.

“I—No, I haven’t heard from him. I’ll check in on him tonight though,” he promised, and she nodded, worrying her teeth between her lips. 

“Okay. Normally I have a short fuse when it comes to my workers coming in late, but Hunk’s been such an asset to us. I can’t imagine he’d miss work intentionally,” she told him, grasping him by the hand and giving it a firm shake. “Have a nice night, Lance. Tell Hunk I worry about him, okay?”

“I will,” he promised, nodding curtly before leaving to head back to Kolivan’s car.

He ducked into the vehicle, frowning as Kolivan pulled forward, back onto the street and to the stop light separating Alterra from the Public Market. Lance cleared his throat and looked to his boss, who had that same, stoic look on his squarish face. “Um… Hey, Kolivan?”

“What is it,” he asked, turning the car towards downtown.

“I’d like to check in on Hunk, if you wouldn’t mind.” Kolivan didn’t respond, so Lance just started giving directions, and was relieved that his boss followed his lead. They reached Hunk’s apartment in a matter of five minutes, and soon Lance was stepping out and hurrying up the steps to the building. He buzzed Hunk’s apartment number five times—leaving about thirty seconds between each one.

Hunk would have answered by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have written :O I'm going to keep writing (as soon as my motivation decides to SHOW UP) but in the meantime! There might be a day break in consistent uploads so I can have a moment to meditate on the fact that I wrote over 1 million words in under a year.
> 
> I'm going to be uploading and self-publishing some of my fics to celebrate this occasion! I'm getting the proof copy of [The Quilted Lion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9483491/chapters/21458567) sometime at the end of August to make sure it looks good before I send out links :) I'll be working on formatting [Imitation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9150433/chapters/20788870), [Musing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10746609/chapters/23824866), and [What Summer Is](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10053779/chapters/22401851). If there's another fic by me that you're interested in, let me know! I'm just going based on what I like and what other people like XD I literally don't remember writing Imitation at all it was a BLUR but I really liked writing Musing and What Summer Is!


	18. is that WEED?

_He’s probably at Shay’s place… Maybe something happened to her_ , Lance thought, turning away from the buzzer and heading down the stoop. He was already down the walkway when the inner door of the apartment building swung open, and he looked just as a girl in a yellow summer dress stepped out onto the stoop.

“Hey—Wait, were you buzzing Hunk’s apartment?” she asked him, holding onto both doors to keep the inner one from closing. Lance glanced at the car before starting back towards the door.

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“I’ve been visiting his neighbor. We’ve been wondering where Hunk is all day,” she said, and as Lance processed this, she held a hand out to him, letting the door bump into their shoulders. “My name’s Shay—you must be…?”

“Lance,” he said, and was thrilled by the way she beamed at him. _So I guess we won’t be on bad terms_ , he thought.

“Come in—What brings you here?” she asked, tugging him by the hand into the building. Lance thought about the time he walked Hunk home, and wished desperately for Hunk to let him inside and give him a tour of his apartment.

“I was actually just looking for Hunk. You said he wasn’t here at all?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“I’m friends with his superior at the nursing home, and she called in this morning asking where Hunk was. He was supposed to volunteer for an hour or two this morning and never showed up,” she said, and let go of Lance’s hand to tuck it against her chin. She shook her head quickly, brunette curls bouncing. “And—that must mean he didn’t go to work at the flower shop, huh?”

“No, he didn’t. His boss is really worried about him,” he confessed, turning away to consider the chances that… “I… might have another idea of where he’s gone if he’s not here.”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shay insisted, shaking her head. “I’ve called his mom, his dad, his _grandparents_ —I even dialed some of his close cousins but none of them have heard to him in a day or two.”

“I saw him yesterday—he came into my work hoping that—well, that we’d actually meet and hang out some time,” he confessed, and shared a soft, bitter smile with her before he shook his head. “That was at, like, _seven_ or something last night.”

She nodded mutely, glancing down the hall of the complex where they heard a door open. An elderly man peered out at them, and she offered him a reassuring smile and said, “Friend of Hunk’s. Lance, this is Hunk’s neighbor, Mr. Gordon.”

Lance waved to him feebly before turning to Shay and saying, “I’ll see what I can find. Could I get your number, so I know who to call if I find him?”

They shared contact information before Lance left, but not without a hug from Shay. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “It was nice meeting you, Lance. When Hunk gets back, we should get dinner some time.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, and left the apartment smiling until he dropped down into the passenger’s seat and told Kolivan that he was ready to head back to the motel.

The second Kolivan dropped Lance off, he tried not to hurry to the door until he was sure Kolivan wasn’t looking at him through his rearview mirror. He pulled out his phone and keys, and dialed up Shiro in the time it took for him to unlock his door and step inside. It rang for a few moments as he shut the door, taped it, and cautiously stepped around the excited kittens lunging for him. Pidge was on the couch, about to open their mouth when Lance held up his finger. 

Shiro answered with a curt, “ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey, this is Lance. I need to know if Keith kidnapped Hunk because he wasn’t at work today and his fiancé is worried about him,” he said, and instantly Pidge was on their feet, rushing over to listen in. 

Shiro hardly seemed thrown off guard by the accusation. “ _I wouldn’t know. Keith hasn’t exactly had the_ energy _to kidnap anyone lately_.”

Lance frowned and said, “What’s that supposed to mean? Where can I talk to him if he’s not staying at his apartment?”

“ _I can’t tell you that, Lance, not over the phone,_ ” Shiro said with a sigh, and Pidge rolled their eyes. They had their head pressed up against Lance’s so the two of them could hear Shiro’s answer. “ _If you want to ask him yourself, I could pick you up in ten minutes—_ ”

“I’m not at my apartment anymore,” he started, and stopped as Pidge punched him, mouthing the word “McDonald’s” to him. “But… you could meet me at this McDonald’s I’m at.”

“ _Cool. Send me the address_.”

Lance hung up and copied the address over to text as Pidge burst out, “I’m coming with you!”

“Hell no!” he cried out, punching in the zip code before sending the message away. “We don’t know what Keith’s planning if he has Hunk—just let me deal with it.”

“Then at _least_ let me track your phone—”

“Pidge…”

“ _Please_! I don’t want to feel helpless here. Do you _want_ me to feel helpless here?” they demanded, and when Lance pouted at them, they said, “Then let me track your phone.”

With a sigh, he agreed to it, and started for the door as Pidge yelped in excitement. “Call me if anything goes wrong!” they demanded as he pried open the door.

“Okay, I promise I will,” he vowed, and saluted them before starting the jog down the street to the nearest McDonald’s.

He was out of breath by the time he arrived, and plopped down on a bench outside the front door. He barely made it in time to beat Shiro, and his chest was still burning from the run as he stepped up to Shiro’s motorcycle. Shiro flipped up his helmet visor and squinted at Lance as he passed a spare helmet to him. Lance looked at it and wondered if he’d find a strand of Allura’s silver hair in there.

“I’m just gonna put this out there,” Shiro told him, leading him to draw his attention back up to Shiro’s concerned eyes, “but… I really don’t think Keith would have kidnapped Hunk, _especially_ after finding out who you are. He’d be risking your wrath and his moral integrity doing anything to Hunk. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping it wasn’t him—but at the same time, I don’t know who would have hurt Hunk,” he confessed, stuffing the helmet on his head with a sigh. He climbed onto the bike behind Shiro and said, “Let’s go.”

Lance kept track of every turn they took, every street they went down, every bridge they crossed before arriving at the docks where commercial-sized warehouses rested on the Michigan waters. He didn’t have any expectations as to where Keith might be hiding, but really, there had to be some sort of _bar_ to meet, right? And he expected that bar to be at the very least a _hotel_ of some sort. 

But Shiro pulled up beside one of these boathouses, smaller than the others, but just as tall as the rest away from the concrete parking lot. Shiro gestured to it as he remove his helmet and shut off the engine. “Keith should be in there,” he said.

“ _Should?_ ” Lance repeated, squinting at Shiro as he staggered off the motorcycle, passing him the spare helmet.

“ _Should_ , as in, if he leaves that place and is recognized by one of Zarkon’s guys, he could be killed on sight,” he explained, and Lance nodded, not quite processing it until he was already walking towards the building.

Lance’s steps stuttered as he realized that he wasn’t the only one on Zarkon’s radar. Of course he wasn’t—Keith was the _reason_ he was on Zarkon’s radar to begin with. Shaking his head, he continued onwards, glancing back only as he reached the door to look at where Shiro was now on his phone, leaning against the handles of his bike. He looked up at Lance and gave him an encouraging wave.

 _Now or never_ , Lance thought, knocking on the door before he turned the handle and pushed it forward.

It wasn’t until he pushed on the door that he realized it was locked—and also that he broke the lock by opening the door. 

The sound was loud compared to the quiet on the other end, and startled not only himself, but also the man who leapt up from the couch several feet from the door. A man screamed from the other side of the boathouse, and Lance flinched back, alarmed by the purplish and orange light structures over—

“Is that _weed?_ ” he all but screamed, pointing to it as the door slammed shut behind him and creaked open. 

“You _broke_ the _lock!_ ” an all-too familiar voice blurted out from the makeshift living room, and soon they were staring at one another as the stranger across the room squeaked, “Wait—this isn’t a cop?”

“What? No—”

“You broke the lock though,” he remarked, straightening up from where he was tending to the marijuana plants. He squinted skeptically at Lance and said, “Only cops break down doors…”

“Rolo, this isn’t a cop,” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “Lance, this is Rolo. He’s… his own distributor. We aren’t—I don’t—”

“So I can’t get a plug through you—got it,” Lance said, nervously putting his hand on the door and keeping it shut. Keith scowled at him, but softened as he took a step out of the living room comfort zone. Lance noted the severe lack of boats in this boat house, and the fact that this… was where Keith was living now. “Wait, so does Rolo hook you up then?”

“I don’t smoke,” Keith argued.

“He doesn’t smoke,” Rolo said. “He doesn’t even _do edibles_. How weird is that? Even if ya don’t like the smell of it, you can get a real high off of downin’ a bit. It doesn’t even linger on your tongue—”

“It makes me paranoid,” he argued. “We’ve been over this.”

“Nice roommate you’ve got there,” Lance commented, smirking between Keith and Rolo as Rolo gave him a thumbs up, and Keith gave him a droll stare. Lance looked around the boathouse once more as his skin prickled under the tense gaze Keith was giving him. He could tell Keith was standing closer than before, though not quite in touching distance. 

Lance brought his attention back to Keith, who looked as though he was about to ask what Lance was doing there anyways. Or, maybe, _how_ he got there. 

“Looks like you don’t have Hunk after all,” Lance commented with a sigh, and watched Keith’s eyebrow lift up before Lance turned his eyes to the ground, still leaning on the door. “Hunk went missing some time between last night and this morning. His fiancé’s looking for him.”

“And… you thought I kidnapped him or something?” Keith asked, incredulously. 

Lance rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly a _stretch_. So… did you? Like, is he being held captive somewhere else…?”

“No, I haven’t seen him, Lance.” Keith’s stern voice was followed by Lance’s own incredulous stare. Keith crossed his arms with a sigh and said, “I wouldn’t _lie_ to you, Lance. I’ve never intentionally lied to you.”

Lance huffed, thinking about how eagerly he held on to the idea that Keith had lied about his last name. But he hadn’t—Keith was not technically a Kogane, but he was close enough in lineage to be swept up in this disaster. “I guess so,” he muttered, disappointed that that happened to be the case. “It’d be so much easier to hate you if ‘ _lying_ ’ was on the receipt.”

Keith ducked his head, scratching at his bedhead, and the bit of uneven stubble on his jaw. With his hollow, sunken eyes—tired from lack of sleep—Keith was just that much closer to looking like the drug lord Pidge kept teasing Lance with. Lance couldn’t ignore the tinge of red on Keith’s nose and lips. 

“I’m kidding, Keith,” he said quietly. “I don’t hate you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he confessed with a shaky sigh. “But it’s fine. It’s fine.”

They were both quiet for a while until Lance looked up at the sound of Rolo whistling by a worktable against the wall. Lance scoffed a little, and glanced at Keith with a smile. It wasn’t returned. “I don’t know where Hunk is, Lance. I’m sorry,” he said with a shrug.

“It’s not your fault, I guess,” he replied.

“I still feel terrible, though—I mean, Zarkon sent a _clone_ after you _because of me—_ ”

“That was bound to happen, though, right? And it all worked out! I mean, Pidge got out all right, I’m still here, I think I even shattered one of the clones’ jaws… it was great,” Lance said, laughing a little. “I doubt Hunk got involved with anyone like that. You and him aren’t friends.”

Keith shrugged, and they studied one another. Keith had migrated closer, and each inch towards Lance looked like a painful traipse that could only end in some emotionally devastating manner. Lance could feel the hesitation there, as if wondering whether or not the pain of denial was worth it. He remained still, though, watching as Keith pulled one of his hands away from his chest to reach for Lance’s arm. He had them folded over his chest, and loosened one to hold Keith’s hand in his own. 

It was a weak connection, but it felt like Lance was making contact with a feeble bird. Keith was vulnerable, clearly tired, and emotionally compromised. Any thought of hurting him now felt like Lance was viciously preparing to slaughter that feeble bird. 

“I don’t hate you, Keith,” Lance whispered again, quietly as he leant his head against the door and watched Keith stare at his chest, fingers tight around Lance’s. 

Keith’s grip suddenly became more aggressive as a gasp went through him, eyes wide as he looked up at Lance. “Wait—you said Hunk and I aren’t friends—” he started, and Lance scoffed.

“What? Are you gonna tell me you and Hunk are best bros now or—”

“I’ve tried to kill him before,” Keith said, and quickly added, shaking his head, “And it was all over the news—Zarkon would have seen it. He must think—He must think I was trying to kill Hunk over something business related. Like Hunk knows something he shouldn’t…”

Lance’s eyes grew wide as Keith looked over at him, horrified. “Do you think…?” Lance started, and put a hand to his forehead as Keith nodded. “ _Shit_. Shit—how would I even—?”

“I’ll help you get him back,” Keith insisted, and went on as Lance was about to shut him down. “With my powers and Shiro’s mole in Zarkon’s industry, we should be able to find _something_ about Hunk’s whereabouts if she hasn’t already heard anything. Come on.”

Keith pulled Lance back from the door and rushed through, heading to Shiro’s motorcycle before Lance could even consider following. Shiro was smoking at the time Keith barged over, and hurriedly stomped it out, saying, “Look—Lance was just concerned and so I said I’d take him here, but—”

“I’m not mad about that,” Keith insisted, waving a hand dismissively as Lance followed up behind him. “I have reason to suspect that Zarkon has Hunk. Do you think Allura could get information on that?”

“Allura?” Lance repeated, raising an eyebrow. “She’s doing solo work for the agency. Why would she…? _Shit_.” Lance slapped his hands over his face. Solo work meant that she was likely doing spy work for the agency. It meant that she managed to convince Kolivan that Zarkon was a higher priority than Kogane. 

“We came up with the idea together,” Shiro told Lance. “Zarkon only accepts elite powers onto his team, and Allura’s invisibility and restoration powers would make the decision easy for him. She’s starting out as a scout for suspicious activity in his own ranks. It seems that he doesn’t even trust his own powers, which is to be expected.”

“So… Allura’s technically working for Zarkon now?” Lance asked.

“She’s technically working for us,” Keith corrected, “but the agency comes first for her. Her last priority is _actually_ Zarkon’s team.”

“What is she doing for you guys?” he asked.

Shiro looked to Keith, who crossed his arms and said, “She’s going to take out traitors that left our team for Zarkon. They’d be the reason why Zarkon would be able to take over our entire territory and spread narcotics freely across Milwaukee. Well—as freely as you _can_ with the police after them.”

“What purpose would Zarkon have for Hunk? Do you really think they believe Hunk knows something he shouldn’t about you?” Lance asked Keith, who donned a guilty, terrified expression as he let his eyes lower to the ground. “They wouldn’t _torture him_ , would they?”

“Lance—” Shiro started, drawing his attention to Keith’s cousin where he still sat on his motorcycle. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “We’ll find him. I’ll contact Allura to see if she’s heard anything, and we’ll come up with a plan if Hunk really _is_ there.”

Lance nodded uncertainly. “Okay. I trust you,” he said, glancing over to where Keith had his arms crossed. For a sharp, split second, Lance felt the pain of that power-induced migraine, and Kogane’s stance in the fortified safe filled with all the power he and the other Defenders lost that day. He remembered the utter feeling of failure, of letting Kolivan down, and having to accept Kolivan’s “I’m just glad you three are okay” as the only success for that day.

“Lance.” He heard Keith’s voice, unfiltered by Kogane’s helmet. “What is it? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

The ache of failing Kolivan weighed in his chest as vividly as it did all those weeks ago. “I’m fine,” he said, looking away. “I, um. I’m just worried about Hunk is all. Shay seemed pretty broken up about it.”

“Shiro,” Keith ordered.

“Already on it.” Shiro finished dialing up Allura and held the phone to his ear. As Lance listened to the one-side of Shiro’s conversation, he considered what they could possibly do to Hunk. The man was one big cinnamon roll—he wasn’t exactly the sort of person who’d survive a bout of torture, as far as Lance could tell. And in a territory teeming with powers when Hunk himself was not one? 

Lance but his hands over his face and dragged them down over his cheeks. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and glanced over at where Keith was. His touch was so light, as if he was debating just taking it away altogether. Shiro looked at them then, gracelessly ending the conversation with Allura to say, “She thinks she might have heard something on the matter. But until she confirms it… chances are Hunk’s there.”

Before Lance could stammer out something stupid, no doubt, Keith squeezed his arm, bringing his hand down to clasp onto Lance’s. “It will be okay,” he told Lance, urging their gazes to lock. “We’ll find a way to get him back. I have spies on my team that can help, and Allura, too.”

“It hasn’t been long enough for the police to be concerned, and Hunk’s a grown man anyways,” Shiro said. “It’s best if the police don’t get involved—that would be a shit show for all parties involved.”

“The police aren’t exactly _discrete,_ ” Keith commented. “They won’t likely think he’s a missing person until tomorrow at the latest. So we have to assume that tonight will be our only night to successfully go in and get Hunk out without causing a disturbance, or dancing around the police.”

“I’ll call Acxa and see what she and her team can do for us,” Shiro said, and Keith rolled his eyes.

“You _hate_ Acxa,” he remarked.

“Why? Who’s Acxa?” Lance asked. 

Shiro looked to his phone, perhaps to avoid eye contact. “She… and her team are involved with what I used to do before Keith promoted me. They’re good at being discrete, and they have a member who has an invisibility palette that rivals Allura’s. We would have sent her, I assume, _if_ Zarkon didn’t already know about her,” he explained.

“Everyone knows about Ezor,” Keith said. “ _I_ knew about Ezor, and I’ve never met her before.”

“That’s because I told you about her,” Shiro sighed. “But whatever the case—they should be able to help. We can’t have them come to the warehouse though.”

“The house you’re staying at?”

“The guys there don’t shut up,” he remarked, and Keith frowned, using his free hand to cup it over his mouth, and run across the stubble on his chin. Lance was convinced that Keith couldn’t get more scraggly looking. From an outsider’s standpoint, Keith’s scrawny figure, shaggy hair, and bloodshot eyes were telltale signs of a meth addict.

“We…” Lance started, and knew the second he opened his mouth that it was a terrible idea. He couldn’t take it back now. “We could… meet at the motel Pidge and I are staying at? Pidge is good with tech stuff—they could probably help too.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asked, squinting at him. “Pidge probably hates us.”

“I wouldn’t say—well…” Lance hummed, and shook his head. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter as soon as they realize you’re helping us find Hunk.”

“Okay then,” Shiro said. “I’ll contact Acxa’s crew while we wait on Allura. Keith—the disguise Prorok was talking about?”

Keith groaned, dropping Lance’s hand as he dragged his fingers through his hair. “Don’t _remind me_ ,” he moaned, sniffing as he looked at Shiro’s immovable expression again. “Fine. I’ll _work on it_.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Shiro said, relieved. He shuffled forward and patted the seat behind him. “C’mon Lance.”

Lance sidled up to Shiro’s motorcycle and swung his leg over it. He looked back at Keith who watched him like he was currently trying to cope with the loss of his nonexistent cat. “Wait,” Lance said, stopping Shiro from starting the engine just yet. “I have one condition.”

“ _We’re_ helping _you_ find Hunk,” Shiro said, laughing.

“I know—but I want both of you two to take a kitten when all of this is done,” he demanded, and Keith laughed. “Promise?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good to me,” Keith said, reaching a hand out to Lance. They shook on it as Shiro started up the motorcycle, shaking his head along the way. Lance let his hand drop to Shiro’s waist as they started to drive off, but it didn’t stop him from looking after Keith as he stood outside of the warehouse with his limp black hair ruffled around his face. His black sweatshirt was the definition of someone who hadn’t lived in Milwaukee of the summer in quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm busy this weekend, but hopefully I'll be able to write a bit tomorrow...? and get to posting again on Sunday. Honestly I'd say we're close to the last 3 chapters. Like, with long chapters, it's probably gonna be about 3 chapters yet, otherwise 5. Depending on what my writer's block decides XD
> 
> I'm so glad you guys are liking the fic so far tho :O Like, considering how awful both Lance and Keith were, I'd say they've made it pretty far.


	19. regroup

Pidge was waiting at the window when Shiro pulled up outside of their motel room number, and parked the bike. Lance watched one of the blinds slide shut just seconds before the door swung open, and Pidge stood there like the worried parent who didn’t approve of whoever Lance was dating. They glared at Shiro as he got off the bike after Lance and yanked off his helmet. 

“You stole Allura from us,” Pidge accused, and Lance rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, he did not,” he said, but both of them seemed to think otherwise. He was surprised that Shiro even agreed with them. “Okay. So maybe he did. But Shiro knows what she’s doing for the agency.”

“You do?” they blurted out, eyes wide. “I’ve been theorizing about it! I figured she was in England.”

“No, she’s not in England,” Shiro chuckled, strapping his helmet to his bike with a lock. “Do you mind if we… talk inside? And also, I think Seafoam is trying to escape.”

Sure enough. Seafoam was at Pidge’s feet, fluffy tail curling around their ankles. She didn’t seem all that inclined _to_ escape, but she was outside nonetheless. Lance plucked her off the ground due to Pidge’s paranoia from The Days Of Old where Seafoam The Beast was prone to cutting off fingers. She was limp in Lance’s arms, and seemed to curl into a ball as he hefted his other hand underneath her. Pidge glared at him, so he said, “Let’s go inside and we can talk about finding Hunk.”

From what Shiro knew—which was far more than what Pidge and Lance knew—of Zarkon’s industry, was that it happened to exist… “On a _farm?_ ” Pidge blurted out, and snorted. “I get that we’re in _Wisconsin_ but _seriously?_ ”

“I know next to nothing about who owns the farm itself, but it seems like production happens _there_ because the sound, the smell, and the size of the barn makes it difficult to track down,” he explained. “But it’s heavily guarded and surrounded by hundreds of acres. The actual facility is under the barn itself. I don’t know the exact location other than it _exists_ , we just don’t know _where_.”

“Why’s that?” Lance asked.

“One of our guys was kidnapped at one point for fucking up and shooting one of Zarkon’s guys. He escaped, but more or less wandered back to civilization. It’s over an hour west of here. I suspect… that if a previous partner of ours was taken there, then Hunk might be too,” he concluded, looking between them both as Pidge slapped their hands over their face with a groan. 

The inevitable happened. Essentially they ran out of things to say, which created an incredibly awkward atmosphere to suffer in. Shiro left almost as soon as it started—thank _God_ —but then that left Lance with the endless glares from Pidge, who couldn’t seem to stand the fact that their “safe place”, otherwise known as the motel, was about to be infiltrated by the people who were inadvertently the cause of their suffering. 

As Pidge grumbled under their breath about how fucked up this whole situation was, and Lance felt his blood pressure rise through the roof at the thought of Kolivan catching them, Shiro stood outside on the phone with the last person he thought he’d have to deal with again. He never expected to be working side-by-side with _her_ again.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite little cunt,” Acxa said calmly over the phone, and as Shiro rolled his eyes, he pictured the way she always seemed to graze her sharp nails over one another, like she was sharpening them. “I’m here to figure out where the hell we’re fucking.”

“You’ve always been a crude bitch,” he remarked, and was rewarded with a bark of laughter. Shiro glanced at the yellow sign in the parking lot. “That shitty Motel 6 off the freeway?”

“‘Course I know the one. Isn’t that where I shagged your mom?”

“Acxa, please.”

“What? Just saying,” she laughed, and after an awkward pause she gave a sigh that practically slapped Shiro with a sign that said, “You’re no fun.” Instead, though, she bit out, “You’re so straight as a stick. Unlucky for the girls, though.”

“Always a pleasure talking to you,” he sighed. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Fuck yeah you will. Ezor’s been _begging_ to—”

“Okay _bye_.” He hung up, not just because he didn’t even want to _know_ what was on Ezor’s mind, but because there was someone on the other line. He looked out into the parking lot as he answered the call with a far more cheerful, “Hey baby!”

“Hi hun,” Allura cooed, more or less sarcastic, but it still made Shiro warm all the way to the tips of his toes. He wiped the smile off of his face with a hand over his beard. He noted the fact that the car beside his motorcycle still had its engine running, so he pointedly walked away from it, and to the wall outside the next room over. “So these guys write literally _nothing_ down so I wasn’t able to find anything computer-wise. Also doesn’t help that I can’t ask the techs for assistance…”

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not exactly _trained_ for this, you know? So I just _asked_ someone straight up about the guy in the news who Kogane was after,” she said, and Shiro was already cringing and pinching a hand over the bridge of his nose. “ _Look_ , it was fine, all right? I got the information, it all worked out.”

“You can’t just _do that_ , Allura—”

“What? It worked, didn’t it?” she whined. Shiro tipped his head back against the speckled wall outside of Lance and Pidge’s motel room. “Otherwise I’ll just keep it to myself if you don’t want to hear.”

“No—No, I do. Just… let’s meet up. I’m with Lance and Pidge right now, and we’re assembling a team to—” Shiro broke off, and for a moment ignored the fact that Allura asked him, “What is it?” because he noticed that the man who stepped out of the car looked directly at him as he did so. He had the single most _orange_ mustache in the world. Shiro would recognize that mustache anywhere. 

Before Allura, and before Keith came back to Milwaukee, Shiro was in and out of Alterra when he was even _in_ Milwaukee. It was back when Allura wasn’t the lead manager, and when the owner was around more often than not. It wasn’t like Shiro knew his name, so he just sputtered for a moment before saying, “I think… your boss is here…”

“My _what?_ ” she shrieked.

The orange-haired man was now prancing up onto the walkway outside of the rooms, hands on his hips like he had a point to make. “Gotta go, I’ll text you the address,” Shiro said, shutting his phone off to address Allura’s boss with a comically cheerful smile.

The man looked him up and down before saying, suspiciously, “So… you’re the guy my niece has been seeing…”

Shiro ignored the implication that this man with _bright orange hair_ was related to the beauty that was Allura. _Time to act like a goddamn gentlemen_ , he mused. Clearing his throat, he held out his hand to the man. “Uh… yeah. Nice to meet you, Mr—?”

“Coran. Just Coran,” he said, glancing down at Shiro’s extended hand but not reaching for it. “I’m under the impression that you don’t know who I am.”

“You’re the owner of the Alterra in the Third Ward,” he said, “and Allura’s uncle.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said, sticking his nose in the air. “You know, I used to be pretty famous _back in the day_. I’d say I was a force to be reckoned with, but that just suggests that I’m not one now. To clarify, I _am_. A force to be reckoned right.”

Shiro squinted at him, and gave him the look that said, “ _Riiight_ …” and reconsidered everything Allura ever said to search for _crazy, delusional uncle_.

“Perhaps you might know me by my full name then,” Coran suggested, and cleared his throat before saying, haughtiness and all, “Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe—you might have seen me on the telly when you were a child. I’ve been fighting bad guys since you were in diapers, and I can tell who one is just by lookin’ at ‘em.”

_Shit_. 

It wasn’t that Coran’s name was especially _common_ , or _talked about_ nowadays. It was like asking if someone heard of bomber jackets and they’d say “Yeah, but didn’t those go out of style?” Shiro never expected that they’d come back _in_ style, he supposed, which made the analogy perfect for his surprise at suddenly now recognizing the older complexion of the iconic Defender before him. 

“And I know _exactly_ what you’re planning,” Coran hissed out, jabbing a finger at Shiro, who staggered back before realizing that Coran had no intention of laying a finger on him. Nothing was predictable with that man, especially after Shiro recalled how Coran was all over the news, talking about how his power was now sporadic and unpredictable, which was why they had to take him off the Defender’s team. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shiro said. “I was just visiting Pidge and Lance—”

Coran practically backed him into a wall, pinning him down with those sharp eyes of his. “You weren’t _just visiting them_.”

“I—”

“You _broke_ my niece’s heart!” he seethed, and Shiro blinked rapidly at him. His breath came out steady then as Coran exploded, “And you’re going to do it again! But I won’t let it happen! You’re trying to lead Pidge and Lance on, aren’t you? Playin’ the good guy, _aren’t you_?”

Shiro stuttered absurdly as Coran’s voice rose, and paused at the sound of the motel door swinging open, and Pidge’s face popping out. “ _Coran?_ ” they blurted out, stepping out onto the sidewalk, hands on their hips. “Step away from the innocent man!”

“ _No_ , he hurt my niece’s feelings, and I do not _stand for that nonsense_ ,” he insisted, jabbing a finger at Shiro, who flinched away from it instinctively. The last thing he needed was Coran around _him_.

“Coran! Step away from Shiro,” they demanded, jabbing their finger to the ground in front of them. Coran scowled at them, and then at Shiro as he put two fingers to his eyes, and marked Shiro with them as if to say _I’m watching you_.

Shiro relaxed as soon as Coran was a decent distance away from him. He flattened a hand over his chest as Coran pegged him with yet another withering glare as Pidge said, “What are you doing here anyways? How’d you know where the motel is?”

“Oh—that’s easy. I’ve been staking out the place,” he said. 

“ _What—_ ”

“Kolivan asked me to keep an eye on things, and—”

Shiro’s eyes widened, not only because that could mean any _number_ of things, but because he heard the symphony of motorcycles riding up from down the road. Shiro looked frantically to Pidge, who was nodding as if they cared what Coran was saying, and frantically tried to indicate that they needed Coran to leave _ASAP_. By the time Pidge even understood, a set of two powerful bikes pulled up into the parking lot with a roar, and skidded into the spots beside Shiro’s. 

Coran’s ranting was drowned out by the noise, and so the three of them turned as Shiro turned white at the waterfall of Ezor’s striking blue hair tumbling out of her helmet as she grinned devilishly at Shiro. She had the sort of smile that crinkled her nose, and emphasized her sharp canines. She waved seductively at him as he swallowed hard, and wished for death.

“Hey asswipe—it’s been a while, huh baby?” she cooed at him, winking as she swung her leg off the bike and sidled up the curb with Acxa dismounting behind her, tugging her helmet off of her fluffy undercut, tousled by helmet-hair. She had artificial raven-black hair that shined blue in the sunlight.

Shiro was almost too horrified to realize that Pidge’s jaw _dropped_ to the floor as they watched Ezor brush past them, and the raised orange eyebrows on Coran. She strutted up to Shiro and gave him a look up and down before settling on his collar and adjusting the leather there. 

“Thought you could get rid ‘a me when our little bossman putchya on a pedestal?” she asked, dark skin a beautiful contrast against his own ghostly pale complexion. 

“It was never like that,” he tried to insist, knowing Pidge’s expression turned from admiration to incredulity in an instant. “And—we shouldn’t talk about this here—”

Acxa plucked off her gloves from where she stood in front of the open motel door. It was enough to call Lance over, who was now trying to see around Pidge where they stood blocking the path to Ezor and Shiro. Acxa nodded over to Pidge and Lance and said, “These the two Defenders Kogane mentioned?”

_God fucking dammit_.

Coran crossed his arms, looking between all of them as Pidge slapped their hands over their face, and then again over Lance’s distraught expression. He looked between the woman in the raven black hair and skintight leather jacket, to the woman with electric blue hair who had her arm around Shiro’s shoulders. If that didn’t suggest he was cheating, Shiro didn’t know _what_ would. But it wasn’t exactly his unfounded guilt that worried him now.

“Let me guess,” Acxa said in a drawl, jabbing a thumb in Coran’s direction, and causing the man to whip around, arms extended like he was preparing to fight, “this guy isn’t a part of this deal, huh?”

“You couldn’t have figured that out _sooner?_ ” Pidge squeaked. “Coran, it’s not what you think—”

They were all interrupted by Coran screeching, “ _KoooGAAANE!_ ” and making a lunge for Acxa, who ducked back to avoid getting jabbed in the throat. She parried with him, arms behind her back as Coran let out ridiculous cartoon-karate noises, trying to nab her by the jacket. Lance rushed forward, yelping, “Wait, Coran—!”

Coran staggered off the curb as Acxa ducked her head down and stepped off, narrowly avoiding Coran’s flailing arms. She smirked over at Ezor and said, “Can you believe this guy—”

In an instant, all of Coran’s flailing ceased—it was like an all-powerful being took control of his body, turned it to stone, before crumbling into every bit of the flexible, agile, swift Acxa was. It wasn’t difficult to tell that her movements were faster than the average human. Coran, even with his borderline-elderly physique, was still capable of packing a punch, but with his powers kicking into gear, Lance feared for everyone’s lives.

Coran swung around and jabbed his fist into her chest with a caw that sounded a whole like like a hawk. His stance came straight out of an action manga, and Pidge snorted off to the side, cackling as Lance resisted every chance he had to pin Coran down. 

“ _Coran_ —!” he shouted as Acxa fell against the side of Coran’s car, gripping onto the hood as Coran came at her again.

Shiro grabbed Ezor by the back of her collar, hissing, “Don’t—that’ll just make it worse.”

“Why—”

“Coran, turn off your power!” Lance demanded.

Acxa stepped around the car, still holding a hand to where Coran hit her. Coran stopped to glare at Lance, and pointed accusingly at the three fiends who joined them. “They work for Kogane—stop them this _instant_!”

“We don’t fucking work for you, Coran!” Pidge blurted out. 

“Do as I say!”

“Oh my God,” Lance breathed, dragging his hands down the sides of his face as he exclaimed, “They’re _helping us!_ Hunk was abducted by Zarkon’s guys!”

“Zarkon?” Coran repeated, stepping up onto the sidewalk with a confused expression. “Now why’s that name sound so familiar…?”

“Drug lord… impressive power structure… ring a bell?” Shiro suggested, and recoiled a little as Coran glared at him. 

“Allura told us they kidnapped Hunk. They’re probably torturing Hunk over stuff he doesn’t know, and we need to get him back—which means you have to _cooperate with these guys_ , okay?” Pidge said cautiously, gesturing to where Acxa looked like she was about ready to lunge over Coran’s car hood and fly-kick him in the throat.

Coran crossed his arm, squinting at Shiro, who was more or less terrified of Coran’s powers sapping his own. “So…” he started, orange mustache curling, “you work for Kogane, huh?”

“More or less,” he said. “I can’t tell you the details, about that or anything to do with Allura. She’s on her way here if you want to ask her yourself.”

“Al _lura_ ,” Ezor cooed, pouting her lips as she was about to say something that would most likely get Shiro slapped. He bristled and shut her up with a pointed glare that had her giggling, and Acxa smirking from down the sidewalk. 

“Well, seems like we’ve got a new teammate,” she commented.

“We do _not_ —Coran, you shouldn’t even be here,” Pidge insisted.

“Kolivan told me to, ergo, I _am_ supposed to be here. Your boss’s word trumps anything else,” Coran insisted, and instantly eyebrows were raised, and hands were slapped over faces. “What? What is it?” he asked, looking at all of them in their mixed confusion.

“Coran… you said,” Ezor commented, strutting across the concrete and looking the tanned, ginger-haired man up and down. “And… Kolivan. As in, the two geezers who basically made life a living hell back in the day?” 

“I thought I recognized that mustache…” Acxa said. “Impressive.”

“Why thank you,” he said, brushing his knuckles against his shirt front. “I’d say it’s a bit of an iconic _look_.”

“I still find it remarkable, though,” Ezor said, being sure to maintain her distance as Coran raised an eyebrow at her. “I mean, you basically control all the powers around you, and yet you have no clue what they are. I bet he’d be _very_ useful on our little heist, wouldn’t you say?”

“Depends on whether or not this heist is… _illegal_ ,” he said, but managed a wink that had Lance cringing. It was like watching his grandfather wink at young girls on the sidewalk. But instead, he was just watching Coran flirt with danger.

“You could say… we’re _fighting crime…_ hm?” Ezor coaxed, and in the next moment, she had an arm around Coran’s neck, and was leading him into the motel with an air about her that suggested she was about to pull off the greatest scheme in the world.

  


  


Keith showed up around the same time as Allura, and it took an arm and a leg to keep Acxa and Ezor from breaking the news that Keith and Kogane were one in the same. It wasn’t all that difficult for them to figure it out on their own—evidently Ezor spent as much time stalking Shiro as Shiro spent feeling paranoid. At his rebellious stages in life (there were multiple of them) Ezor seemed to be an excellent experience to indulge _more than once_. He wished he would have been more mature and capable of turning Ezor down back in those days, but… they got into a little _too much trouble_ back when they were dating.

Allura stuck to Shiro’s side as Acxa retrieved her laptop from the back of her bike and pulled up blueprints of the production center for Zarkon’s drugs. They lingered back by the closed windows, where the light slitted between the blinds and highlighted the way Allura pinched her fingers over her chin and said, “So… you dated _her?_ Why?”

“She was older than me and bought me cigarettes,” he confessed, tipping his head fondly as he regarded the way Ezor licked her teeth at him from across the room. 

“Ah, yes, young love,” Allura mused sarcastically, and Shiro scoffed in reply. “Well, I’m glad you’re over that stage.”

“Thanks. I like to think that I’ve matured since then,” he confessed, turning to grin at her. She smiled back, only to be drawn away by Keith calling her name.

She stepped forward, crossing her arms as he asked, “So that conversation you overheard two days ago? I was thinking about it on the way here and I think it might be useful.”

She wracked her brain for the topic, and pulled it up under things she told Keith rather than the agency. She was acutely aware of the fact that her uncle was watching as she cleared her throat and said, “Uh, yeah. I mean, I haven’t picked up on _all_ of their codes since that isn’t exactly my job for Zarkon, but based on the studies at the Defenders agency, they were able to extrapolate a few things about their codewords that you might know more on. Considering… how long you guys have been fighting these guys.”

“I wouldn’t say fighting,” Keith sighed, frowning down at the blueprints. “More of a… miscommunication problem than anything. And also the fact that I don’t exactly _agree_ with their moral standing.”

“I wouldn’t agree with _either_ of your moral standings at this point,” Pidge muttered, leaning back on the couch as they gestured vaguely with their hand. “But regardless. What’s this about codewords?”

“They have names for locations, supplies, people, et cetera just like we do,” he explained, looking skeptically at Coran as he did so. “But… since everything that went down with people from our side switching, they’ve likely changed their communication up just like we had to.”

“That’s pretty much the only way you were able to catch up with us, huh?” Shiro commented with a smirk. Keith gave him a bland look, still bitter about how much time he spent simply keeping track of his father’s lingo before it all had to be uprooted and changed to prevent snitches from handing over valuable information that otherwise would have been easily passed in public.

“They have a truck going in—just a standard U-Haul from a facility south of here— _empty_ , with the intention of having it filled with a shipment heading to West Allis at a house by the river that’s currently ‘going through a move’,” Allura went on to explain. “The supplies will be stowed away _in_ the furniture at the farm that they haul into the back of the truck. Afterwards— _if_ , Keith, you’re okay with this,—we’ll drive the truck to the agency and start the bust from there. Zarkon’s guys will scramble and you won’t have to worry much about them.”

“Worry _much_?” Keith remarked, only to be overshot by Acxa crying out, “Are you out of your mind! That’s a death sentence!”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked, squinting at them. “You wanted Zarkon’s narcotics out of the picture—this is the best way to do it and destroy his foundation in the process.”

“Regardless, Sendak and Haggar are still out there,” Keith said, pinching his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “They’ll have ever last follower of their’s hunting down… _Kogane_. If they can’t have the narcotics industry in Milwaukee, they’ll go for _his_ power and suppliers. And then they’ll have the foundation of starting _another_ production elsewhere with anyone willing to trade loyalties from Kogane to Sendak.”

“What are you suggesting then? That we take out Sendak and Haggar in the process?” Acxa asked, gesturing to Shiro as she said, “In case you forgot, you have Sendak’s _son_ standing right there.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Shiro remarked, glaring at her as she shrugged innocently. “And I already gave Keith the okay if it comes to that. In case _you_ didn’t know, my father took Lance’s powers and attempted to run off with Kogane’s supply. So I’d say that’s a valid reason to shoot on sight.”

“Was that what happened?” Coran asked, raising an eyebrow at Lance who sighed and nodded. “Then I imagine that’s the same guy who hurt Allura, right?”

Pidge smirked as Allura practically elbowed Shiro in the stomach to keep from saying anything. Instead, she hummed, “ _Yeeeah_ … that sounds about right. Never got a good look at his face.”

She steered them all back on track. The last thing they wanted was to delve into the shit storm that was the history of Allura and Shiro, with _Coran_ of all people. So instead, she pulled them up to the U-Haul facility where Ezor’s job was to sneak in and follow the guys Zarkon’s inferiors sent to grab the truck. At the truck, she would knock out the driver as he was about to climb into his seat—silently, so as not to distract his passenger from being alarmed until he lifted himself up into the seat and saw that his friend was gone, and that he was about to have his head smashed into the dash. 

From there, Ezor would hide her victims under the dash and beneath the blanket she brought with her until she was out of the facility, around the block, and picking up her comrades in time to restrain the victims and hide them in the boathouse with Rolo and Prorok, along with two of Keith’s trusted guards to keep them company. 

“From the boat warehouse, we start the trip towards Madison,” Keith declared, looking up at them from around the coffee table where Seafoam Green sat patiently atop the farmhouse blueprints. “We’ll be at the farm by noon, and out of there with Hunk in under an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay D: I work a lot this week but hopefully I can get around to posting again within the next two days! 
> 
> In the meantime, tho, I printed [The Quilted Lion](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/post/164233242190/i-printed-the-quilted-lion-i-got-the-proof-copy) and it's now available for purchase :O   
> I got the proof copy today and cuz I was so impatient I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE because the tracking thing said it was there and I was like "I KNOW I'M A DAY EARLY BUT WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO GIVE IT TO ME NOW" and the lady was so nice. Shout out to nice Post Office ladies who are willing to scavenge around in the back for impatient customers lookin for packages a day early XD


	20. u-haul transportation

At the warehouse, Lance and Pidge had to practically keep a blindfold over Coran’s eyes the entire way. On the march to the door, Coran stuck his nose up and said, “I’m only doing this to protect the three of you.”

“Okay, Coran.”

“None of this nonsense is acceptable, I hope you know that,” he insisted, giving Lance a squeeze on the shoulder as they got through the broken door, and to the living room area where they could drop Coran down on the couch. Pidge’s gaze went over to where the UV lamps were set up around Rolo’s business, and whistled low as they pointed at it. Lance slapped their hand down.

“Ezor’s getting the truck,” Shiro told them off to the side. “Keith’s on his way back.”

“From _where?_ Shouldn’t we all be grouping up?” Lance demanded, straightening up to cross his arms. 

Acxa, who was standing by the door when they burst in, shrugged and looked to Shiro for clarification. Shiro looked to Allura, who looked across the room to where a stocky man was sitting at the work bench on his phone. In response to the silence, he looked up from the screen and over to them, lowering his glasses a bit to wave. 

“Talking about Keith, I hear,” he said. “You can call me Prorok. I work for Keith—he’s just taking care of something I suggested a while ago for his disguise.”

“What’s this about a _disguise_? Who is this guy anyway?” Acxa commented, and Lance laughed nervously and changed the subject by exclaiming, “So Ezor’s getting the truck! How much time do we have?”

At that same moment, they heard the creak and churn of tires on gravel riding up beside the warehouse doors. It clunked up to the door where the engine shut off, and a moment later Ezor came through and kicked the door open. “I’ve got some party guests!” she announced, grabbing Acxa by the arm and dragging her out to where the two of them pulled out the tied-up bodies of two of Zarkon’s guys. 

They hurriedly pulled them into the warehouse where Prorok now stood watching them do the heavy lifting. By the time they brushed their hands clean and were out the door, Shiro’s motorcycle pulled up to the docks and Lance was momentarily disoriented by the all-too familiar helmet reflecting the sky overhead. He hesitated under the shade of the U-Haul truck, aware that Coran could probably feel him tense underneath the arm he had thrown over Lance’s shoulder. 

But then, Keith pulled off his Kogane helmet, and dismounted from the bike. Lance expected that head of frizzy, shaggy hair to fall over his shoulders, but instead—

It stayed in place where it was cropped short to his skull, and refined on the top. He was back in black skinny jeans and combat boots, along with a dark grey shirt with maroon sleeves. He looked like he just invaded Hot Topic and came out as a metal band groupie. 

Lance’s jaw dropped a little, the tension in his shoulders slackening as he felt his heart throb at the sight of Keith’s _ass_ in those _jeans_.

“Your boner’s showing,” Pidge whispered off to the side, and Lance yelped. He looked down before realizing they were just kidding—which completely warranted the slap he gave them in the arm. They cackled as the three of them overheard Shiro stepping up to his bike to take back the keys.

“Better?” Keith remarked sharply.

“ _Much_ better. I can barely recognize you when your hair isn’t all over your face,” Shiro laughed, rubbing his hand atop Keith’s head. Keith scowled, and snatched the black bit of fabric Shiro handed to him. “No helmet tonight. Last thing we need is everyone on the premises recognizing you.”

“Oh, come on. They’ll recognize him the second he uses his powers,” Allura said gruffly, crossing her arms.

“Which is why I won’t be using much of my powers,” Keith said. “It’ll just be backup. In case things go sour.”

“And that power _is_ …?” Ezor commented as she started to the other side of the truck. 

Keith followed after her, and all Lance could look at was his _hips_ god _damn_. “Hopefully you won’t even have to find out,” he said, disappearing from view until Shiro wrangled them all up to the back of the U-Haul. They were in the back of the truck and heading out onto the Marquette Interchange by the time the clock hit ten A.M.

It was dark in the back of the truck, but just as thrilling to be there as it was to sit in the bed of a pickup cruising down country roads. Pidge had their phone on, lighting up everyones’ faces in the back. Coran sat between Pidge and Lance; across from him sat Allura, who sat beside Shiro; adjacent to Shiro were Acxa and Ezor. At the door was Keith, who had his knees propped up, fiddling with something in his hands. It sounded like tinfoil, and after it broke, he popped something into his mouth. Lance couldn’t stop staring at his perfect hair, and the fact that it was probably one of the first times he saw Keith’s forehead.

Keith glanced over at him, and he turned away, blushing madly and wondering why his chest felt like it was being stuffed with cotton. Keith looked Lance up and down, noting his Defender uniform, and the mask he had twisted in his hands. He wondered if Keith remembered holding that same mask in his hand before dropping it to escape.

“So we have two hours,” Pidge exclaimed, startling both Keith and Lance from staring at one another. “Let’s play a game.”

“Yeah!” Ezor cried out. “I spy a little _bitch_.”

Acxa pointed to Shiro, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Bingo!” Ezor kicked her leg out, cackling against Acxa’s shoulder as Coran muttered, “ _These_ are the types of people you hang out with?”

It was going to be a long, _long_ journey through Wisconsin farmlands.

But by the time it came time to prepare for their exit, Lance was standing beside Keith at the door, pulling his mask down as Keith tied a cloth over his nose and mouth like some goddamn Texan cowboy avoiding the dust. With Allura and Ezor there, glaring at each other from either side of Shiro, the entire occupation in the back of the U-Haul disappeared from sight all except for the whites of their eyes and teeth. Allura had her hair tied up beneath her cap to keep it from being seen as the truck finally stopped, and they heard footsteps approach the back of the truck.

The footsteps came accompanied with voices that broke through the metal as it screeched up, shedding light into the cabin. Lance was used to being invisible because of how long he worked with Allura, and it never ceased to amuse him when his enemies stared right through him before turning away to tend to other matters. 

Considering how much time they spent in the truck, they easily decided that Acxa and Lance would be in the frontline. They both dropped down from the back of the truck and as Lance grabbed the nearest worker by the back of his shirt, Acxa was swift when it came to injecting the guys with the same drug Ezor gave the drivers. Lance hefted the bodies into the back of the vehicle and started sliding in the furniture Zarkon’s guys had ready at the front of the garage. With his strength and Acxa’s speed, they got the job done three times as fast as any normal person. The furniture did wonders when it came to hiding the bodies in the back. 

“Acxa—” Shiro started as they all materialized in the garage, “make sure you warn us if things get suspicious over here.”

“Sounds good. By the way, a guy just stepped out of the farmhouse. He’s coming this way,” she warned, pointing off towards the white house on the edge of the country road. Lance looked as they all flickered out of focus in time with the screen door slamming shut. _How could she sense that?_ he thought as the guy started walking towards the U-Haul. “He’s a power.”

“Coran,” Allura suggested. “Think you can convince him that you’re the driver?”

“I didn’t take theatre for nothing,” he said, appearing directly beside Lance as he adjusted his jacket lapels and started for the guy walking towards them. As he struck up a conversation with a loud, “Good morning, sir! Just here to drop off the truck!” 

The guy peered around Coran, who hardly seemed stunned by the fact that he was facing someone who was perhaps an entire foot taller than himself. “I sent two guys over to help load up the truck,” he said.

“Hm. Haven’t seen ‘em! I saw two guys heading in that direction though—think it coulda been them?” Coran asked, pointing off to what appeared to be a… _horse_ barn, perhaps? It was accompanied by a domed shelter for hay with two open sides that distracted from the fact that the rest of the gang—excluding Coran and Acxa—were sprinting in the opposite direction trying not to kick up dust in their wake.

They hurried across the grass, and past a kids’ playset to where Ezor led them around the back of the barn. They didn’t even hesitate at the sight of two guys in work overalls sitting out in lawn chairs beside a storm shelter outside of the barn. Cows moaned inside the barn, and above the sound of the fans posted on every other open window fanning the scent of manure into their faces, and the smoke curling from the guys’ cigarettes. 

Before arriving, Lance remembered Shiro’s warning—don’t even think about it. Thinking about the people you’re about to break the jaws of would only make this entire thing a goddamn disaster. “Every last one of these guys _purposefully_ joined Zarkon. People don’t join his business without full loyalty. That means these people murder if they have to, rape if they can, and are dangerous on drugs and power. Take them out in one go.”

So Lance didn’t hesitate.

He slammed his fist into the nearest guys’ skull, shattering it on impact, and sending the chair and body scattering into the one beside it. He grabbed the second guy by the shoulders and rammed him into the storm shelter’s concrete frame. It was over in less than ten seconds.

He heard someone whistle from beside him as the bodies were being dragged into the trash heaps behind the cow barn. “Impressive, Defender,” Ezor complimented, sounding far too impressed for comfort. “Remind me not to get in a fist fight with you.”

“This way,” Pidge whispered, propping open the door on the ground. They held it until Allura held up a pixelated thumbs up before joining the rest of them underground.

As the rest of the team ducked down underneath the barn, Coran and Acxa stood together in the garage. With Ezor and Allura so far away now, they were both in light of the sun, and visible in the shade. She had her arms crossed, glancing behind her out one of the garage windows to where the guy disappeared. “He’s gonna come back and realize you were spewing bullshit.”

“I know. But it gave me enough time to figure out what his power is,” he said, clasping his hands together and separating them with a glare of white light between his fingertips. His palms blazed in the blinding light, and it speckled its way across the underside of his forearms like white flames licking up his flesh.

The glow illuminated Acxa’s now wide eyes before she laughed and said, “Damn, old man, that’s one goddamn power of yours’. Glad I could meet the Legendary Smythe before we all die.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Incoming,” Acxa interrupted, ducking to the side with her enhanced speed. Coran looked to her, and noted the head passing by the window beside her narrowed eyes as she looked to the corner of the garage.

Coran used to fight, but not so much anymore. Regardless, there wasn’t much of a fight _to_ give considering the second the man came into focus, Coran shot his hand forward and slammed it into the guy’s chest. The man went down in an instant, a sharp, crackling sound striking through the air like lightning snapping a dead tree. The two of them tossed the body into the back of the truck with the others after Acxa injected the sleeping drug.

“You head out after the others. I’ll keep an eye on everything,” Acxa told Coran, nodding in the direction of where the others’ shadows retreated. 

By the time Coran reached the storm shelter, Shiro confiscated the powers of the last of the guards in the basement of the barn. They still had plenty of other rooms to go through, but for now, at least they wouldn’t have people chasing them from behind. Keith expelled some of the shadows discretely enough so as not to alarm the others. It made the rooms appear almost otherworldly, untouched by whatever darkness tended to gather in the corners of buildings and beneath furniture. It looked almost as though a faint, bluish glow encompassed the basement where Coran showed up and said, “There’s three guys in the next room—looks like the main facility.”

“Pidge,” Lance said, gesturing to the secured metal door. There were heavy-duty locks bolting the sides of the door to the concrete bricks, speckled with gravel and rocks. 

“On it,” they said, stepping up to it and sending a blast of sharp green bolts through it. The lock broke without a sound, and the door pinged for entry.

“It alerted the other guys,” Coran said, sapping what he could of Acxa’s power reserves to figure that their next opponents were on their way to the door. His innate visual of the next room grew fuzzy before disappearing altogether as they stepped through the threshold, and took to the sides where Keith brushed away the imprint of their shadows and made them completely and totally invisible under the lights.

Lance waited until two of the guys approached the door, and just as he was about to attack, he heard the familiar, distinct sound of Pidge’s foot brushing over the dusty floor. An instant later, jolts of green light fractured away from them and lit up the floor beneath their opponents feet in a matter of half a second. The shock sent all three of them to the ground before Allura said, “Cameras,” and every last security cam on that floor clicked off. “Nice, Pidge.”

“Thanks,” they beamed as Allura and Ezor expelled the invisibility filter now that the coast was clear.

“I totally had them!” Lance whined under his breath, and felt a hand clap him on the back. 

“Next time,” Keith said, stepping past him and heading after the direction of where Shiro led them down the center isle of what appeared to be unused or retired milking stations beneath the barn itself. Lance found it odd, and wondered what the chances were that these weren’t milking stations at all—it’d be kind of difficult to get cows all the way down here…

“They’ll probably wonder what happened to the cameras. We need to get moving,” Pidge said.

“Agreed. The tunnels are another level down,” Ezor said, hurrying to the other end of the room where the wall partially covered the worn-down wooden steps to the floor below. Lance hesitated, though, glancing over to the archway leading to the next room over down the length of the barn up above. It was underneath the hay building, beside the silo where the churned-up grain was kept and filtered down the chute to the cows overhead. 

He stepped over to the archway and peered around the corner where he caught sight of the edge of production lines. There was musing blaring past the sound of something crunching and slamming into the floor. He heard someone step up behind him, and glanced over as Keith came to join him, a hand resting against the wall as he leaned around Lance to look. 

“That’s the sound of the machine that breaks down the minerals to make power,” he explained. “Haggar took all of ours when she ditched us for Zarkon.”

“Oh,” Lance hummed. “Think we could fit it in the U-Haul?”

“No. There has to be a dozen of them,” Keith said, moving away. “But we have to go. We don’t have time to bother with that.”

“But—”

“Let’s get Hunk. Come on,” he said, tugging Lance by the arm and pulling him over to where Coran was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. 

Allura and Shiro were already at the lower floor, running in opposite directions to see where each tunnel took them. The corridors reminded her of old basement hallways beneath ancient universities where they kept the extra furniture and construction materials. She expected each room to contain a boiler or _dead body_ , but each one was either guarded or empty. She could see the heads of strangers through the windows, or shadows passing beneath the cracks. The rooms were few and far between, and when she reconvened with the rest of the crew, Shiro showed up and shrugged. 

“It’ll take some digging around,” Shiro whispered. “Pidge, any update from Acxa?”

“Coast is clear,” they replied. “But we should move fast. Separate?”

“We shouldn’t separate,” Lance said instantly. “There’s a _reason_ they put Defenders on teams. No offense, Allura.”

“None taken,” she said, grinning a little. “So we just… break up into two teams. Shiro, Pidge, Coran, and I will go one way, and you, Keith, and Ezor will go the other.”

They agreed on it, and soon they were splitting off into their designated groups. Lance watched Pidge’s shadow retreat around the opposite corner before turning back towards his current mission. His arm accidentally bumped into someone beside him, and he murmured, “Oops, sorry.”

“Jesus. No need to be so courteous,” Ezor scoffed.

“He wasn’t raised like an animal, unlike _you_ ,” Keith remarked.

“Seriously, _who_ are you? Mr. High-And-Mighty?” she hissed as Lance rolled his eyes with a laugh. 

They turned the corner of the rugged concrete walls when they were confronted by the sound of a door slamming shut ahead of them. Lance jumped in surprise, and flattened himself against the wall—hoping the others did the same. He couldn’t see them, and noticed quickly that the telltale sign of their shadows were completely gone. There wasn’t a trace of them as the woman who stepped out of the room walked passed them in a hurry, her boots clapping against the concrete with their speed. 

He looked to the door that was just preparing to close before bolting for it, hand catching on it an inch before it intended to lock shut. He peered in, squinting through the slot of the opening. The whiff of something foul came through, and his nose scrunched up in distaste as he looked over at where Ezor dispelled a portion of their invisible so they could see one another. “Do you smell that?” Lance asked in a whisper.

Keith tapped his hand on his wrist and said, “ _Hunk_. We are here for _Hunk_.”

“I know, I know—I just—I feel like there’s more we could do,” he confessed, regretfully letting the door shut closed. 

“If we do anything, we could be risking your friend’s life,” Ezor told him. “Which—I mean—I don’t really _care_ that much about either way, but I feel like Shiro would be pissed if I endorsed this…”

“As if you care what Shiro says,” Keith commented.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she shrugged, marching ahead and grabbing Lance by the hand along the way. They continued down the same path, following Ezor’s memory of the tunnels before Pidge ever got around to kicking a door in with an extra blast of power, and completely setting an entire room ablaze in green as Shiro screamed, “JESUS!” and Allura hissed, “Pidge, calm the fuck down!”

Pidge grabbed one of the half-conscious guys by the gross blue apron and shook him awake. “Where the fuck do you keep prisoners down here?” they hissed.

As the man gasped and floundered to speak properly, Allura grabbed Pidge by the arm and yanked them back. “What has gotten into you?” she hissed.

“We’re never gonna find anything if we keep slinking around unnoticed!” they insisted.

“That may be true, but I, for one, am still not on board with this new plan,” Coran confessed as Pidge broke free from Allura, swinging their fist over to punch the guy in the side of the face.

Instead, they stopped an inch from the man’s cheek and hissed, “So what’s the answer? You know where they keep prisoners?”

The man swallowed hard and shook his head. “I—I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t know! Last time I heard anything about that was… a-a day or two ago. I don’t really remember—”

“That could be our guy,” Pidge hissed. “Which way’d they take him?”

The man pointed a shaky finger in the direction of where they were heading anyways. Allura and Shiro were both still floored, mostly by the fact that chemicals were now dripping off counters, and that every last guy in there was wearing rubber gloves to keep it off their hands. Pidge shook the guy to the floor and stepped back with a huff of air that dropped their shoulders. 

They turned back to the threshold and stepped through, passing Shiro and Allura in the process. “Well that clears up a few things. At least we know we’re on the right path. Someone go catch up with the others and tell ‘em we’re heading this way.”

“Shiro, you go,” Allura said. “I should… probably keep an eye on Pidge.”

“Agreed,” he confessed, side-eyeing Pidge as he started to jog back in the direction they came. “Don’t get too far.”

“No promises!” Pidge all but shouted, and Allura winced as they heard a voice from down the hall shout, “Who’s over there!” Pidge clapped their hands, rubbing them together diabolically as they smirked and said, “This is gonna be _good_.”

Shiro hesitated until Allura turned back and said, “ _Go_. We’ll be fine.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Coran added, cracking his knuckles and giving them an experimental spark that Shiro recognized all too well from his own hands. He looked to Allura, whose mouth was concealed partially by her mask, and her eyes were just as expressive as ever. He nodded fast before turning on his heels and jogging in the opposite direction.

He sprinted off in the direction of where Keith and the others disappeared. He was a complete, blackened blur as he passed the stairwell, and turned the corner, narrowly avoiding what could have been a terrible encounter with the woman who disappeared upstairs before Shiro ever came flying past. A turn later, and he caught the tail end of what looked like the foggy figure of Ezor’s electric hair disappearing around the corner. She always did say keeping hair under the wraps of invisibility was difficult—it wasn’t necessarily the colors that tended to bother most powers with invisibility, but rather the textures.

He got to the end of the hall and steadied a hand on the wall as he skidded around the corner. The sound of his boots scraping against the dusty floor called Ezor’s attention, just as a heavily bolted door clicked its security off, and hissed open, momentarily blocking Shiro’s view of the rest of his team.

Shiro stopped, chest pounding, as his eyes shifted up the figure stepping out into the open. Whether or not they fully registered one another was up for debate, but they surely recognized one another, and Shiro found himself regretting not preparing to see his father again. He never expected to, but really should have—they were in Zarkon’s territory now, practically in his _base of command_ , in the corridors of his production facility surrounded by miles of underground tunnels.

He should have expected to see his father again.

“Dad—” he started, eyes slitting as a shade of red swelled up from his father’s neck up, the anger tensing his shoulders.

“ _We have an intruder_. Take him out and get Haggar to safety,” he shouted into the room before shoving the door open the rest of the way. It bounced off the wall as he turned to head down the hall away from Shiro, making way for the several guards that were with him. Shiro’s stance solidified, watching frantically as the guards came after him with all their might to make way for Haggar hurrying out, escorted by a man in silvery white hair reminiscent of Allura’s. Shiro was momentarily floored by it before the breath was knocked out of by the force of something solid slamming into his chest and breaking him away from the fiery fist coming at him. _Ezor_.

Ezor wrenched both hands up, catching Sendak off guard with an invisible grip throttling him by the throat, and slamming his skull into the wall. Disoriented, he looked frantically for the culprit, and only found the foggy shimmer of Ezor’s slitted eyes coming up close, nonexistent hands gripping him by the wrists and holding him back against the wall. 

Her face materialized before him in a flicker of pixels. His eyes went wide, recognizing her hair instantly, and the dark face of yet another girl his son used to hang around with.

She tipped her head to the side, shaking her finger back and forth as she cooed, “Nah-uh-uh…! How’s it feel seeing me again?” 

“Is Kogane with you?” he hissed. “You still work for that bastard, don’t you?”

“Not that he’s been giving me much to do lately…” she hummed. “Had to find work elsewhere. Which brings me here—time to dispel another one of Kogane’s bitches who broke off their leash. Pity you had to get on your son’s bad side.”

“Ezor—don’t get too close to him,” a familiar voice sounded from beside her, distracted by the sparks flickering at the other end of the hall. Sendak looked, catching sight of his son through the flash of darkness that licked up the sides of the wall, and flattened his men against the concrete. Shards of ice suddenly ruptured from the ceiling, breaking through the concrete and sending Shiro to the side to avoid them. 

Keith could practically feel Sendak’s blood turning cold as the invisibility filter blurred around the edges, and revealed his eyes turning to glare up at his foe. He felt some unquenchable rage grip hold of his heart in his chest, like something he could never quite fathom after having been through too much shit to care. He was furious _for_ Shiro. He knew that killing Sendak himself wouldn’t feel as righteous as he made it out to be. But the look on Sendak’s face was enough to amuse him.

“Haggar—!” Shiro’s voice shouted, his rage building as he shouted over the crash of his metal fist breaking through ice barriers. Lance whipped his bow around and notched and arrow, aiming fast and letting the head of it loose. The sharp, dynamically slimmed fletcher flung past the wavering of the bowstring. It skimmed the air in front of Shiro’s vision as it cut through the pockets of shadows Keith held against the walls. 

The strength of it, and the speed of it, bit through the wall of ice spraying out from the ceiling. Lance watched the shimmering image of their enemies retreating in the reflection of the ice, and lowered his bow as his arrow shattered on the concrete wall beyond the ice layering up. The flecks of Keith’s shadows dissipated after Lance missed his target.

Shiro’s steps crashed around the bodies now collapsing on the ground in heaps of blood on the concrete. Keith dispelled the shadows as Ezor murmured, “Whoa,” under her breath, and looked frantically to where Keith kept his gaze on Sendak. 

Keith threw up a solid black barrier with the leftovers from holding Sendak’s men captive. He blocked Shiro from chasing after Haggar and her guard. Shiro threw his fist against it, screaming, “ _She has the instructions—!_ ”

“We don’t need them,” Keith said, crossing his arms. “I can deal with her later.”

Blood pooled from the open pores of every last man opposing them in that hallway. It seeped into the cracks of the broken concrete, and as Lance stared at it all, he felt the chill of the dark sweep over him like every other time he witnessed Keith’s power—anonymous or not. Ezor seemed to be in shock, but her invisible grasp still held on tight to Sendak’s sparking fists. 

Shiro was seething down the hallway, splatters of blood painting across his face as his boots splashed in the gore on his way towards them. He hardly seemed phased by the wretched smell leaking in the air. “I’m not _fucking around_ , Keith—this is our chance—”

“It isn’t the _plan_ ,” he hissed. “My top priority right now is finding Hunk, and taking care of your father.”

Lance considered himself at least somewhat grateful. At least now he wasn’t on Keith’s bad side, but he worried about the chances of that ever changing. He never considered Keith to be a rash guy, or someone driven by anger, but he remembered his naïvety the day he sobbed his apology to Keith in his kitchen. He didn’t find anything bizarre about finding Keith drinking at his countertop, but now he wondered how he would have taken he situation differently had he known who Keith was, and what he had done to Hunk before. He would have been more cautious. He wouldn’t have tried to make Keith mad. But there was something about tiptoeing through life that seriously put a damper on Lance’s mood.

He watched numbly when Shiro stepped up, just as intimidating as every other time they confronted one another on opposite sides of the spectrum. Lance, the Defender trying to take out Shiro, the Power Zapper that freaked the hell out of Allura and the rest of the agency. It was difficult to remember that Sendak was the same way, especially when Shiro grabbed him by the forehead and struck a bolt of white light coursing across his entire body.

Sendak spasmed and would have fallen had Ezor not been holding him up by her invisible arms. He hung limp against the wall, panting, a bit of saliva collecting on his chin as Shiro glared at Keith and said, “I don’t fucking care what you do to him—just do it. Allura and the others are on Hunk’s trail and we need to catch up with them before Haggar alerts _everyone_ that we’re here. We could have—and should have—taken her out.”

“You know I don’t care about that,” Keith hissed under his breath, glaring as his friend started to walk away again, back the way he originally came. Lance watched after Shiro before looking back at where Keith stood seething, glaring at Sendak’s chest. Ezor glanced over at Lance, eyes still the size of Mars as she whistled low, calling Keith’s attention to her.

“Anyone… else interested to know what’s in the room they came out of?” she asked, pointing to the open door. 

Keith rolled his eyes and with a huff of his shoulders, stormed off at the same time a cloak of darkness rushed around their legs and lifted up in a wave that tore Sendak from Ezor’s grasp and threw him to the ground. The mould solidified, muffling the gargling sound that broke into a pocket of blood contained within the shadows until the three of them were around the corner and out of sight to see it paint the concrete red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never used a U-Haul before can you tell. I didn't even do any research on it I was just like "eh whatever".
> 
> Also I live for Acxa and Ezor making fun of Shiro XD idk why. I put 21 chapters cuz idk if I'm gonna have a legit epilogue I'm just goin with the flow and seeing where it takes me.
> 
> EDIT: I legit... don't think I had anyone driving the truck. But I'm to lazy to care, so there's a continuity mistake for you lol.


	21. censored

Lance remembered how it felt to feel and be worthless. He was useless, pathetic, _dependent_ when he lost his powers to Sendak. That didn’t mean he wished Sendak dead— _especially_ taken by the bloody way Keith seemed to kill. Working for the Defenders agency wasn’t a free pass to kill ruthlessly—they were _defending_ people from being killed by the people they were instructed to kill first. They limited casualties, but in order to do that, sacrifices had to be made, and it was the first and most difficult lesson Lance had to learn in duel parings back in his early days at the agency.

He was all too familiar with the mistake of trusting the soft eyes of a cat at the humane society. He could handle the unsympathetic gaze of criminals he restrained in the back of a military-grade truck riding out to the Milwaukee prison ward. He could handle Seafoam Green’s apathetic nature, and perhaps it was because he was so used to dealing with _terrible people_. He was used to breathing the same air as people who he very well could have become had morality not been drilled into him.

There was something seriously wrong with the way he followed after Keith and Ezor through the blue-tinted yellow walls and the mix of green coating their skin like a film of algae the closer they came to reaching Allura, Pidge, and Coran. He shouldn’t be entertaining the company of terrible people—he shouldn’t _have_ to feel obligated to deal with Seafoam’s bullshit, or the way the agency treated him simply because he was expendable. Sure, his strength power was unheard of, but… there were plenty of other powered kids with strength as their gift. He wasn’t special in the way Rolo was, or Keith, or Pidge.

He was just another powered guy with strength.

He wished that applied to his ability to resist the temptation of cute facades like Seafoam and Keith. But that wasn’t how power worked.

  


  


They found bodies along the way to catch up with the others. They collected at an intersection of corridors that linked together in what appeared to be cell blocks structured beneath the junk yard framed by the cow barn and the adjacent horse stable two floors underground. There were makeshift interrogation rooms that Lance broke into with a swift kick of his heel, lights off and empty. Many of the rooms were simply… empty, aside from limp chains on the walls.

And then they heard Allura shout, and Coran yell in time to hear, “ _Whoa!_ Mr. Smythe?!”

“Hunk,” Lance said, feet kicking off and sprinting him in the direction of where a body came flying out the door of the cell room, and crashing into he wall. It was instantly followed by Coran squeaking, “Oops! Got a bit carried away there!”

The man groaned on the ground, rolling to push himself up to his elbows before Lance pressed his foot down on the guy’s back and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t move or my foot goes through your ribcage,” he threatened, giving the man one last shove before heading for the room.

There was a sharp green glow inside the room, silhouetting the shape of Allura stepping out fast, preparing to fight, only to realize that it was just Lance, followed by the others. She lowered her bloodied fists. “We found him. There’s a getaway exit that way, but we’ve got to jog half a mile to get to the exit. Acxa’s meeting us over there—she had to drive the U-Haul off the farm and is going to circle around to the back of the property.”

Lance breathed a sigh of relief, rushing to the open door where he could hear Hunk whimper, “ _Ow!_ Ow—it’s fine, just a bit tender.”

“Broken arm—nothin’ good about that,” Coran hummed.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Smythe? I th-thought you were— _retired_ ,” Hunk said, wincing as Pidge lifted his other arm around their shoulders, only to be nudged aside by Lance.

“I heard you were a bit of a _fix_. So here I am,” Coran said, glancing at Lance as he helped Hunk out of the room. He schooled his expression behind the mask, though his chest was pumping in time with the blood oozing from the cut above Hunk’s brow.

They barely got it through the door before Hunk stumbled against the doorframe, leaning up against it with a gasp. “I-I’m fine—I just—” His voice hitched up and gargled before a quiver went up his spine. He leant over and heaved vomit onto the concrete. Allura scurried away from it, bumping into Shiro’s side as he rubbed a hand over his forehead with a sigh. 

Lance winced and looked over at Pidge, who gestured frantically to the door. “We need to get moving, in case you didn’t hear.” He leapt into gear and hurried up to Hunk.

“I’m gonna have to carry you, okay?” he said, and before Hunk could protest, he was sweeping Hunk off his feet and lunging over the puddle of vomit on the ground. He ran off in the direction of where Allura pointed, and stuck to Ezor’s instructions the rest of the way, several paces in front of everyone else as he hefted Hunk up in his arms and secured Hunk’s good arm around his shoulders. If he wasn’t so intent on getting the _fuck_ out of there, he would have spent more time dwelling on the fact that for once he had Hunk’s muscular arm around his neck, and his hands on the backs of Hunk’s thighs.

They skidded up a set of makeshift stairs that gave out as Coran scrambled up, clinging to the gap in the ceiling where Shiro grabbed hold of his arm and heaved him up. A gunshot went off below them, and Coran yelped as the bullet bit the back of his calf. He hooted loudly, laughing off the pain of it as he scrambled onto the floor. “I’m fine! Nothin’ I can’t handle!” he cried out, though he swooned a little once he was on his feet before getting back into focus. 

Pidge slammed their foot on the floor and sent their hands out down the length of the hallway behind them. A web of neon green lights speckled across the floor in stripes and diagonals before ultimately popping the gunpowder in the guns down below, exploding them in the hands of their holders. Someone screamed at the blast, cussing up a storm and likely cradling a bloody finger or two.

The tunnels were rough around the edges the farther out into the fields they got. Overhead was where the tractors moved between the fields, and Keith noted the hardly-secure way the concrete on the ceiling cracked here and there around roots of pants. Every now and then, he pulled the impossible darkness away from the front of them as Pidge sent green bolts of power across the walls that fractured like the wiring on a motherboard. The shadows collected behind them, and Keith could feel the prodding of people far behind them trying to get through the condensing darkness that turned from a jelly-like texture to a complete solid. It sent shudders down his spine, like when he could feel the blood splatter from his enemies pores as it pooled like droplets of liquid in space.

“Acxa’s there. She lost some of the guys who were following her. I don’t think many of the guys on the property know where all of the tunnels let out,” Pidge said, pulling a hand away from their earpiece. 

“There’s six main exits the tunnels take around the property. There’s two that collapsed a while back when they were constructing them,” Ezor explained. “You know Al Capone used to hang around farming towns and one of his hideouts had secret tunnels like this?”

“Really?” Lance said. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Okay, can we stay on track fo—” 

Pidge’s words were cut out by a snarling, crumbling vibration over their heads that sent their eyes skyward as pebbles started to rain down. Lance dropped his gaze, squinting and coughing past the dust that clouded the air. The roaring overhead took them all by storm, pushing them closer to the ground as the concrete ceiling started to dissolve around them. 

Keith flung his arms up, catching the shadows that darkened in time with the sky coming into view. Blinding sunlight broke through before Keith’s shadows strained to hold the rocks off. The sunlight burnt holes through the dark layers he continuously replenished in hopes of maintaining the dome for the sake of surviving the tunnel collapse.

They were pitched into darkness during that time, and Hunk settled on his feet as Lance let him cling to his arm, listening to Shiro say, “We’ll have to take care—of whoever’s above us— _Keith!_ Are you _listening?_ ”

“ _Shut up!_ I am—” he snarled, and after everything, Hunk found it difficult to repress the way his panic rose at the name, and the name he originally put to the masked face. He recognized both, and could see the similarities despite the helmet Kogane always wore. Who else was capable of conjuring shadows like this? Who else was capable of breaking into some secured facility underground like this? He swore not to hate the name, even as he was beaten for information about Kogane, but it terrified him nonetheless.

And that the Defenders were working _with him?_ How bizarre. 

With Coran and Keith both in the same scenario, Hunk was able to draw from other faces and voices he recognized from Alterra, and as the White Defender said, “Hoist me up and give me a pass—I can take care of whoever’s out there,” Hunk thought, _Yes, that’s definitely Allura_.

“Are you kidding?” Keith hissed, teeth ground together in concentration. “Something’s trying to—”

Light burst from the ground up as the Green Defender said, “Take down the shadows all at once—take ‘em by surprise.” _Pidge_.

“Agreed,” Coran said. “I’ve used Pidge’s power before—one zap and it’ll be over.”

“I don’t trust your aim,” the Blue Defender said, and Hunk found himself staring at the unfamiliar uncertainty in his voice. He heard it before, but he wasn’t _used_ to it at all— _Lance_. The grinding sound only heightened, leaving Lance to shout, “Maybe have Shiro reinforce the two of you? Give him access to the current and send off his power-zapping… _whatever_.”

“You think that’ll work?” Shiro asked, practically screaming over the sound as a speck of light made it through Keith’s barrier. 

“If we’re able to stand on my currents, we should be able to carry your power. It’s worth a shot,” Pidge said, grabbing Shiro by the arm and dragging him forward. “Just don’t zap me, big guy.”

There was no warning. Keith’s barrier broke, and in the second they were all blinded, Pidge and Coran shot their feet across the ground and rocketed their hands up into the air. Pidge yelled for Shiro, who flattened his hand against the wall over their patchwork of green lines shooting up and across the grass, the fields, the people standing within twenty feet of the epicenter. Lance felt it reverberating in his chest, stinging like heartburn with how his adrenaline spiked, and ached through every limb of his. His powers were still there, but he couldn’t say the same for anyone else near them. 

Lance hurried into action. He hoisted Coran up, who used his enhanced strength to pull Pidge up, followed by Allura, Ezor, Shiro, and Hunk. It took some effort hoisting Hunk up considering the state he was in, but eventually he rolled out onto the dirt panting, hands over his chest as he squinted up at the clouds.

Lance bent down, cupping his hands for Keith. Keith’s hands came to his shoulders, and on the count of three Lance lifted his knees up, and brought Keith up with him. With a slight jump, he sent Keith up to grasp hold of Coran’s hands several feet above the point where the ceiling ended. Keith scrambled on the ledge, his feet scraping against the dirt and rocks before Coran dragged him over the edge to the others.

It was a jump Lance had made dozens of times before during missions with Pidge and Allura—he could make it. That wasn’t exactly the problem, though, because just as he made the jump and was steadied by Coran on the grass, he realized that everyone else had dispersed to take out the four-wheeler that had brought the attackers over. There was a guy cruising off in it, most likely to warn the rest of the farm, and in his wake he left dirt kicking up behind him in shifted shards like mountains at a fault line. The tunnel collapsed, tipping Lance and Coran back towards it before their feet slid onto the sparking green surface Pidge pushed out of the increasing slope. Lance fell on it, hissing as the sparks singed the specialized fabric of his Defender uniform. 

Distantly, he heard Pidge shout, “Sorry!” as Coran grunted, pushing himself up as the ground dipped beneath them, and settled in loose scraps of dirt and rock.

“Not exactly a _soft_ landing, but it’ll do,” he groaned as he hopped back onto stable ground.

Lance looked after the four-wheeler as he hopped back onto the ground. The vehicle took a sharp turn and went across their line of sight a good distance away. Perhaps the farthest Lance could shoot _relatively_ accurately. Sure, he could shoot farther than that, but that didn’t mean he’d catch his target at a bullseye. 

He hefted off his bow and notched an arrow. “Think you can make it?” Allura asked as he drew the chord and trained it after his subject.

“Maybe,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his concentration mounting as he felt everyone’s eyes on him and the man he planned to kill cruising dangerously towards the line of no return.

The edge of his arrow blurred in his vision as he focused on the dark head in the distance. He let his arrow loose. It took no more than three seconds before their answer was met with a distant, muffled cry, and the sound of the four-wheeler’s engine squealing and ripping through the cornfield behind it. Lance lowered the bow with a sigh of relief, and laughed as Allura clapped him on the back, and Pidge came lunging at him with a shrill cry of excitement. 

“Well done!” Coran cried out, wrangling them up into a massive group hug and lifting their feet off the ground. With Pidge squished next to him, Lance had all the air squeezed out of his lungs, his face pressed up against’ Allura’s. 

When they separated, it was to the sound of Ezor saying, “Acxa’s that way. We should probably book it, just sayin’.”

“Agreed,” Shiro said, leaning down to hoist Hunk off the ground by his good arm. He cradled his bad arm to his stomach where the swollen part of his forearm looked painfully dark with bruises. Allura hurried over to him, and Lance stepped up to observe as Allura placed her hands gingerly over his irritated, broken limb. 

Hunk hissed at the sensation Lance recognized all too well. It started with a bout of heat that burned like a hell so hot it was cold, and as the chill seeped in, it spread and expelled the buildup of blood causing his skin to bruise. Hunk kept his mouth shut, brow tensed and crinkled. His grimace didn’t subside until after Allura healed what she could without causing more pain. He let out a shuddered breath, and seemed to gag a little.

“Th-Thanks Allura, but I just gotta—hang on—” Hunk ducked to the side and vomited away from where Lance grimaced, and Allura stepped back.

It wasn’t until they started moving again that Lance realized that Hunk completely just called Allura by her real name. 

  


  


They got to the country road beyond a line of trees boarding half of the property line. The second they came stumbling out onto the asphalt, a familiar U-Haul truck cruised down the yellow line and screeched to a halt beside them. Acxa hopped out of the truck as Ezor ran to the window and said, “Nobody followed us—we took that semi-abandoned tunnel you told me about.”

“Good. Because I think there’s someone following me but they’re just waiting to see where we go,” she explained, looking to the rest of them as she seemed to count heads before landing on Hunk’s gorgeous face and his length of dreads drawn over his shoulders. “So this is the guy we came here for?”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance said, wincing a little.

Acxa looked Hunk up and down before flashing a thumb’s up to Keith on her way to the back of the U-Haul truck. Keith winced a little, and noticed that Hunk was now staring between Lance and Keith like he was having a revelation. Lance grimaced back, awkwardly shifting past the two of them on their way to the back of the truck. He could… deal with that later…

“So are we just gonna let them follow?” Shiro asked, clearing his throat. “They’re likely expecting us to give away our location, and where Kogane stays.”

“We all know Keith is Kogane, no need to sugarcoat it,” Ezor remarked, hands on her hips. Shiro gave her a bland look, looking discretely over at Hunk, who shrugged.

“I figured it out already, thanks for the concern, though,” Hunk said.

Acxa leaned back out the back of the truck and squinted at Keith again. “This is new information,” she said. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

“I was expecting Kogane to be cuter. A bit too small for my taste,” Ezor said.

“Lay off. He’s perfectly proportioned,” Lance snapped, and glared at the tongue Ezor stuck out at him. 

Shiro helped Allura into the back of the truck, and offered a hand to Coran, who put his nose in the air and insisted he could do it himself. Lance literally threw Pidge into the back of the truck, who soared with a fit of maniacal giggles into Allura’s arms. He followed up after them, and turned back to help Hunk up. As he clasped onto Hunk’s good hand, he was held down by the fact that Hunk was vying to make eye contact with him, and did so with the stern look on his face that floored Lance. 

“Thank you, Lance,” he murmured, looking down sheepishly before adding, “I don’t—I don’t know how to repay you.”

He hesitated, and thought, _Wow, thanks brain for not coming up with anything raunchy in reply_. “Don’t. You don’t have to—I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do, and Shay is really worried about you.”

With that, he hefted Hunk up whether he was ready or not, and steadied him on the edge of the truck. “So… you met her?” he asked, hopeful, and Lance nodded. Hunk’s smile was everything in the world.

“I did. She’s good for you, Hunk,” he said, smiling despite the fact that Hunk couldn’t even see him. 

Allura helped Hunk to the back to help take care of him, and Coran, who had blood caked on his leg where the bullet nicked him. Lance saw him off before heading back to the ledge where he could see Keith several steps aware staring down the country road lined with oak trees and their spindly branches curling over their heads. The sunlight dappled across the asphalt, and broke away where Keith stood in the sunlight squinting off into the distance. 

“Keith, come on,” Lance said. “Hurry up—we’ll disappear before they even know it.”

Keith looked back at where Lance held his hand out from the back of the U-Haul. He saw the other people condensed in the truck, and the fact that they had all just survived a tunnel collapse on top of being shot at. He could still feel the bullets being sucked into his shadow barrier in perfect line with his heart.

He took Lance by the hand, and let himself be hauled up at the same time Ezor slammed her hand on the back of truck to get them moving.

  


  


The two hour drive back to Milwaukee was simpler than what Lance expected. He expected a wild getaway drive on the highway, speeding between minivans, being chased by _bad guys left and right_. But it wasn’t like the movie, and everything felt fine aside from his raging adrenaline, and the fact that Hunk sat across from him, mostly healed thanks to Allura’s remaining strength, and Coran’s adopted abilities. 

Hunk twisted his hair up into a bun with a sigh, saying, “Wow—I can actually use my _arm_ now. Thanks guys.”

“Any time, any time,” Coran said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“So… if I have any back pains in the future…?”

“Find a doctor, not us,” Allura said, and glared pointedly at Coran, who gave an innocent shrug. She turned a smile onto Hunk and said, “But we’re always happy to help. I’m glad you’re… relatively fine, Hunk.”

Hunk opened his mouth to shrug off the comment when Keith said, “I suppose I should apologize.” Keith looked down at his hands that rested on his kneecaps, twisting them together as he added, “This seems to be _my_ fault and I really should have anticipated it. I shouldn’t have gone after you those times, Hunk.”

“I’m just interested to know _why_ ,” he confessed with a scoff, grinning in the light of Pidge’s phone that survived off of their makeshift wireless charging pad otherwise known as their electrical power. “I mean—did this have to do with _Lance?_ ”

Lance shrugged and said, “A little bit,” as Keith said, “Yeah, it did.” They looked at each other then from where they sat beside one another, and Lance snorted, laughing as he ducked his head to avoid the grin on Keith’s face. He couldn’t deal with Keith’s incredible smile—at least, not when his hair was so perfectly pulled back from his eyes like it was now. And while Lance was entirely about it, Keith couldn’t help but feel exposed all over again. He couldn’t wait for Shiro to let him grow it back out again. He’d be back to square one in a year.

“I hope you all realize…” Pidge said, “that you’re all gonna pick a kitten the second we get back.”

“That _was_ the condition—for _me_ anyways,” Keith said, grinning. “And I already picked mine.”

“The one that snuggled with you that one time?” Lance asked, and Keith nodded. “That was perhaps the most adorable thing I ever witnessed. I’m cool with that.”

“I call dibs on the fluffy white one,” Coran said.

“I didn’t say you could take one,” Allura insisted, but Coran was set on his choice. “Fine. I already told Shiro he could snag one of the grey ones.”

“The grey one with the white spot? I love that one,” Shiro confessed, and scowled at Ezor before she even said, “Ha! You pussy cat…”

“Ezor…” he groaned.

“What do you expect!” she cried out, and Allura rolled her eyes, still laughing as she noted the way Pidge groaned and slid down against the truck wall in hopes of disappearing forever.

By the time Shiro called up Prorok and they arranged for a place to meet, they were in Milwaukee circling blocks, disappearing into subdivisions, and lingering by Bradford Beach. It was dinnertime, and the beach was still full and teeming with college students trying to escape the heat. There really wasn’t anything “discrete” about the way they tumbled out of the back of the U-Haul surrounded by furniture hiding drugs. Since they determined not to turn it over to the agency and cause a clusterfuck of problems for Keith and Milwaukee in the process, Prorok sent a guy over to take the truck and destroy the evidence an hour north of where they stood now.

Acxa shook hands with the guy before trading keys and patting the side of the truck. The engine started up as they walked down the street to where Prorok’s guy left an SUV behind for them. “As much of a success as we could hope for,” Keith said with a sigh. “I’m ready to move back to France in a heartbeat.”

“Then I’d never get to see you,” Shiro said, tossing an arm over his shoulders they claimed the front seats. Acxa climbed in and leant over the center console and clapped them on the shoulders.

“And I hope I never see _either_ of you two again. I mean it,” she said, and winked before ducking back out of the SUV. She slung an arm around Ezor, who kissed her middle finger and held it out to Shiro as they strolled in front of the vehicle and off onto the sidewalk. They walked off together as Keith turned to Shiro.

Shiro sighed. “She means she looks forward to working with you,” he explained, and the both of them winced at the thought.

Together, the rest of them drove to the warehouse where Shiro and Allura hopped onto his motorcycle and drove off. Coran glared after them until they were out of view. He clapped his hands together, startling Pidge, and said, “Looks like I’m playing designated driver!”

“None of us our drunk though,” Keith said.

“I sure wish I was,” Lance sighed, running his hands over his bare face, mask tucked in the back of the SUV. “I say we all hit the bars.”

“Please no. I can’t handle your giggle-snorts when you’re piss-drunk,” Pidge complained.

“Shay’s probably wondering where I am since I called her off Lance’s phone,” Hunk said, and moaned miserably. “I’m _awful_ at lying to her! How am I going to pull this off? All of my relatives know I went missing!”

“Do you want me to be there to convince her?” Keith asked, raising his eyebrows. Hunk gave him puppy dog eyes, and Lance smirked at the reaction it got out of Keith. Clearly no one could resist Hunk’s puppy-dog charm. “Fine. I’ll come with…” he sighed. “It’s the least I can do after nearly _killing you_ on _more than one_ occasion.”

“Thank you,” Hunk breathed, heading back to the SUV with Keith in tow. Lance watched after them, and maybe it was just so he could see Keith’s _ass_ in those black _jeans_ , but who was he to say? 

Lance and Pidge joined the ride to Shay’s apartment where Hunk took the walk of shame up the sidewalk with Keith following after him. Thankfully, Keith looked slightly more respectable after cutting off his shaggy hair and changing his clothes, so when Shay shook his hand, she didn’t look like she needed a tissue to stand barrier between their hands. Pidge cackled as the two of them watched Keith explain that he and Hunk were friends from Alterra, and that he was spending the weekend gambling and invited Hunk up to join him. They met up that Sunday night and it carried them over into Monday. Hunk’s phone was either lost or stolen, and he couldn’t remember Shay’s number off the top of his head (though he really could). 

Somehow, Shay bought it, and deemed Keith a bad influence on her Hunk, but any friend of Hunk’s was a friend of her’s. She hugged him despite how awkward he looked being held in someone’s arms, and Lance bitterly thought from the inside of the SUV, _I bet_ we _look better hugging than that…_

Shay walked Hunk into her house as Keith wandered back to the SUV looking just as stoic as he always did. Lance scooted over on the bench to make it look as though he hadn’t just had his nose pressed to the glass, but the bit of fog his breath left behind was still there. Keith didn’t notice it, and if he did, he never mentioned it. They settled in for the ride back to the motel, and Lance felt the massive weight on his chest lift and throw itself a dozen feet into Lake Michigan where he wouldn’t have to worry himself over Hunk again like that.

At the parking lot of the motel, Keith expected to find a fleet of agency powers waiting for him. He felt guilty for assuming that Coran would rat him out, and felt that guilt fester when Coran clapped him on the back and said, “You’re a good man. I hope you find the right in the world.”

Keith laughed hollowly and said, “That’s funny because there’s no right in the world.”

“Well—find it where you can. That’s all we can hope for, isn’t it?” he said, and gave Keith’s shoulder a squeeze before moving on to Pidge and Lance. “I’ll see you around, Keith.”

Keith nodded, offering a weak wave as Coran finished off goodbyes and gushing over his newly adopted kitten that was still in Seafoam’s custody. Coran drove off less angry than before, and less skeptical of their activities now that he knew everything there was to know about them. Keith would have to keep an eye out for that tanned, ginger-headed man.

“So… Keith,” Lance drawled, and Keith flinched from where he was distractedly watching after Coran’s car. 

Keith was prepared for this. He spent a while planning for it, and the devastation he forced himself to anticipate. He could take rejection—he’d done it before—but somehow, losing Lance felt like losing something new and essential to his daily routine like washing his face, brushing his teeth, _eating_ on a regular basis. He’d miss the _idea_ of having someone there to talk to, to call up, and have an excuse to hang around when he didn’t want to be alone. But he couldn’t force Lance to be with him. He had to take Lance’s rejection as it came, and deal with the consequences. Prorok would help keep him in shape. Prorok would probably tell Rolo to keep an eye on Keith. Rolo would make sure he washed his face, brushed his teeth, and _ate_ on a regular basis—

The motel door clicked shut, and Keith turned to face it, and the face of Lance waiting there, alone. Pidge gave them a moment of privacy, but Keith half-expected them to be peering through the slots of the window blinds.

Lance smiled, huffing his soundless laugh as he started, “I… really do like your new look. You should keep it like that.”

Keith reached up to his hair, frowning as he tugged at the short strands. “I don’t know… I don’t really like the _breeze_ much.”

Lance laughed and said, “It’ll be nice. It’s summer, you know—not everyone can survive the summer in a sweatshirt like you.”

They both smiled at one another before looking at the ground, or off into the parking lot. Eventually, they both started to speak, and stopped, insisting, “You go first—” “No, you can go. It wasn’t anything important.”

That gentle, caramel skin dimpled at Lance’s cheeks as he offered a cheeky grin and said, “I just… wanted to say that I’d like to take up your offer. That if things… didn’t work out with Hunk, that we could still… you know, be a thing. And I mean, I’m sort of _hoping_ you’re still interested, but after everything I wouldn’t be surprised…”

“I am,” Keith jumped in quickly. “Still interested, that is. But I don’t want you to think—”

“I’m not.”

“I know, it’s just—I just _hope_ that you won’t think of me differently. Now that you know everything I deal with,” Keith insisted. “And that… if you don’t want to be a part of _us_ anymore, that I’ll be okay with it. I don’t want to be the guy who acts like that shithead who lost his mind and nearly got both you and Hunk killed.”

His heart was in a flurry, knocking at his chest impatiently to know what Lance though. He hoped his chronic ability to turn people away would finally shed for Lance as it did for Shiro. He wanted to continue living whatever fantasy they had at the Harbor House, but he couldn’t do that without being completely pragmatic about the situation. He couldn’t be irrational and capricious with Lance anymore as he had earlier welcomed.

“Yeah, I’m fine with that,” Lance said quickly, stepping closer to Keith. “Only if you are. Sounds like you’re trying _very_ hard to convince me that we shouldn’t be a thing.”

“I’m not saying we _should_ , but I _want_ us to be,” he confessed, grinning wickedly as he let his thrill compel him to take Lance’s hands in his own. He lifted them up between them, and kissed their laced knuckles. “And I _really_ want to take you out on more dates. Two is definitely _not_ enough.”

Lance giggled as he kissed their knuckles too, like it was a secret handshake the two of them shared now. “Okay. Sounds good. When do you want to go out again?”

“I’ll text you,” Keith promised. 

Lance pulled his hands away to wrap them around Keith’s scrawny shoulders, and rock the two of them back and forth as he chanted, “This. Is. Going. To. Be. _Great!_ And I’ll save your kitten. I’ll give it a name tag and everything.”

“What’s the name tag going to say?” he asked, settling his head onto Lance’s shoulder as the rocking-hug turned into a slow, gentle, circling waltz on the concrete in the Motel 6 parking lot.

Lance hummed, and Keith felt it vibrate against his shoulder. “Well… maybe… Marmalade?” he suggested, and Keith snorted, and muffled his laughter against Lance’s uniform. “What! It’s a valid name!”

“Marmite?” Keith said in between giggles, and Lance threw his head back laughing.

“Marm-a-lite.”

“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous,” he said, reaching up and flicking Lance on the side of the head. “I’ll think about it. But I do like Marmalade. It’ll probably end up as something made up. You know what? Surprise me. Just make its name tag something ridiculous and it’ll stick.”

“Okay. I’ll do that then, and I’ll see you later,” Lance promised, giving Keith one last squeeze before pulling away and heading for the motel door. They drifted several paces away from it, so Keith stood disoriented as he watched Lance retreat inside where he could hear Pidge shrieking, “ _You two are such cheeseballs!_ ”

As Keith laughed and hopped back into the SUV, Lance tracked down the kittens and wrangled them up. They tended to disperse like tennis balls dropped atop a steep slope, running off in opposite directions until Pidge and Lance caught them and brought them back up to the sofa. Lance picked out Keith’s black kitten that had a bit of goop in its eye. He used a tissue and cleaned it off before hunting down one of the Motel 6 sticky notepads. He tossed the tissue, and grabbed a pen. 

“What are you doing?” Pidge asked, lying on the sofa now so all the kittens could clime on top of them.

“Naming Keith’s cat. I promised I’d give it a name,” he said, jotting down a conglomeration of letters before sticking the note to the kitten’s fur. 

_Marmora Kogane_.

  


  


Suede, tan shoes dropped to the pavement. They turned, passing the tire of the pickup as they crossed paths with the silvery shine of the bumper, and the nondescript license plate. It was level with the washed texture of the man’s jeans, topped with a leather belt just below where the man tucked his dark-skinned hands into the pockets of his army-green jacket. The golden zipper touched the chain of his necklace, and the white tank top underneath where the slogan peaked out from the jacket and read CENSORED in bold black sans serif.

“What are you planning, sir,” Haggar’s raspy voice sounded from the passenger window. The man yanked open the door, and came eye-to-eye with her and his light, almost pale, brown eyes. His black complexion was soft, flawless, freshly shaven like the sides of his undercut that turned brown and black around the foot of dreads tied back from his head. 

He was young, that much was certain. But he’d been in this business longer than Kogane, it seemed like. _The fool_ , he thought.

“Seems like we have more than one sweetheart to take from him,” he mused allowed as the back door to the pickup opened. A hefty woman dropped out, the broad length of her shoulders making space for the gargantuan muscles on her biceps. Buffer than Kogane’s precious Hunk, and more dangerous on top of that. “Zethrid. What do you say to taking out Hunk Garrett? The man doesn’t know anything useful… so we don’t need him anymore. Well, aside from a general warning to Kogane.”

“Give the Defender to me, Lotor,” she hissed, slamming the door behind her. “Ya know I can take ‘im.”

“I know. But I’d like to see Kogane scramble. I want to know what his impulses are like, and what he does with the Defender,” the man named Lotor hummed, leaning his arms on Haggar’s open door window as the woman stepped out. “He clearly never learned about _attachments_ in this business. It’s time to teach him what it’s like trusting people.”

Zethrid’s scowl could rip a person apart at the seams if she tried. Instead, she nodded fast, folding her arms over her chest as she said, “So long as I get ta have a little fun with the Garrett boy. Seems like my type a man.”

“Any guy is _your type of man_ ,” Haggar remarked. “Don’t be rash.”

“That’s bullshit and ya know it. Scrawny white boys are repulsive to me,” she hissed, flicking Haggar off before stepping away to the back of the pickup where a motorcycle was mounted and strapped down. She flung the bungie chords over it, freeing it from its restraints, and lifted it off the bed of the truck in one swift movement. Lotor watched after her with slitted eyes after a minute or two to watch Zethrid ride off down the road, saluting Lotor on the way. 

Zethrid would find the house of Hunk’s fiancé. He’d be staying there for the time being, thinking that Zarkon was completely unaware of his connection to Shay. But Keith would know better. Kogane may be new to the business, but he had people who weren’t, and the wisdom of people like Prorok would draw guards to flock Hunk for a probationary period of a week where they’d realize that Zarkon _had_ sent people to follow the U-Haul, and then the SUV. Zarkon’s people would attempt to highjack the U-Haul on the freeway north, only to realize that the powered man driving the truck had the ability to detonate the engine by sparking the flame that sent the entire U-Haul smoking in the two lanes, and blowing up itself and the two cars Zarkon had following it. Police would get involved. Police would track the rental name to the U-Haul facility. It would be a fake name, fake address, fake _everything_ that left them at square one as to who brought the drugs there in the first place.

Pidge and Lance would arrange for a new apartment with a working door. They’d cancel their lease and buy a cheaper place wedged between several university campuses where they’d be bothered by parties on the weekends and drunk college students, but it’d be safer. Shiro would move in with Allura and deal with Coran’s constant surveillance the best he could. Keith would spend weeks without decent sleep just to ensure that Zarkon wasn’t lingering outside of either of their apartments, even beyond the probationary period Prorok set up for Hunk. 

But it would all be worth it in the end. Because the more Lotor, Haggar, and Zarkon bothered with Keith’s friends, the more Keith learned about them and their powers, and how to stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason these fight scenes just don't come to me as easily as they have before. My guess is because there were superpowers involved, but... I hope that didn't ruin the experience for you guys *insert guilty smile here*
> 
> I don't! Know what! I'm gonna! write next! But I should probably take a break considering I need to pack for moving into my apartment and stuff... In the meantime, though, I've printed [The Quilted Lion](http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/sarahcorner)! So if you haven't read that, it's still on AO3, but you can now get a paperback copy of it. 
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) :D


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